


Never a dull moment

by auburnnothenna (auburn), eretria



Series: Thawed Out [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Multiple, Thawed Out Universe, Time Travel, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, comics level violence, comics science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburnnothenna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/pseuds/eretria
Summary: Time travelling team mates were not on Steve Rogers' Christmas list. They better not have been or James was making sure he got nothing but coal and the couch for the next year.





	1. DAY ONE

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note 1** : Looks like we couldn't quite leave this universe after all. ;o) So, we're back in the Thawed Out Universe, bringing you something quite Christmas-y. As this is Thawed Out, it is not Civil War and Infinity War compliant, though it does acknowledge some of the events in the movies.
> 
>  **Author's Note 2** : This story is finished (we're talking 50+ k words finished) and going through a second beta. We will be posting chapters as they come back from our beta, the lovely murron, and as we edit them accordingly. We have a buffer and hope to post at least every other day, hopefully more often. So, if you're wary of unfinished stories, then please don't be concerned: this is not a work in progress, but a work in polish.
> 
> ~*~

DAY ONE

"You'll be in charge until – " Peggy Carter's voice wavered for one instant, then she squared her shoulders and plowed forward. "Major Falsworth, you'll be in charge of the unit until further notice."

She nodded to the sad rest of them, firmed her red lips, and strode away. Her back was straighter than a ruler. English down to the bone.

Monty stood outside the radio shack. One look at his, Gabe's, Frenchie's and Dugan's faces told Jim they were at as much of a loss as he was. None of them knew what to do next. Every one of them looked tired, they were dirty and battered, they were, despite the battle won and the lives saved, defeated by Steve's loss, so hard and soon after Bucky's fall.

"She's got that stiff upper lip perfected," Gabe muttered under his breath. "Just like you, eh, _Major_?"

"I have never wished for command less," Monty said, refusing to rise to the remark. It was just an excuse to start a fight and get some of the frustration out of their systems. Monty was right to ignore Gabe this time. They couldn't afford that now, no matter how much they all itched to punch and destroy and shout. With Steve and Bucky gone, Jim had little hope their unit would be allowed to continue much longer. The brass might ignore an American group commanded by a Limey, but not Frenchie's, Gabe's, and Jim's presence. Hell, Jim had expected Agent Carter was there to send them all back where they came from. It was a relief to know they'd have a little while longer together.

"They're gonna bust us up or send us to the Pacific," Jim said. Someone had to say it.

Gabe nodded silently.

Frenchie's, "Merde," mirrored what they were all thinking.

Dum-Dum just stared to the west, as if he could see all the way to the Polar Atlantic where Steve had gone down with the Red Skull's Valkyrie. No one had been there, but the fact that New York was still alive and thriving was a testament to Steve's success.

"God damn it," Dum-Dum said. "Sarge would be hotter than a firecracker in hell if he was here."

"He's probably giving the Devil hell right now, demanding Old Nick give him leave so he can head up to the Pearly Gates and sock Cap one in the jaw," Gabe agreed.

"Bucky is not in hell," Frenchie insisted, his English heavily accented but perfectly correct. For once, he didn't look like he was joking or having a laugh behind your back.

Gabe winced. "So he's already punching Steve's lights out somewhere on a cloud. Either way, Steve's got it coming."

They all nodded in silence.

"So what now?" Jim asked. With the Sarge gone, the voice of reason fell to him or Gabe. And Gabe was too angry to be sensible.

They looked at Monty, though it felt wrong. Dum-Dum had taken his hat off and was scratching his head. It was unnerving to look at.

Monty squared his shoulders, mirroring what Carter had done earlier. "We keep going. Our job is not yet finished. We fight Hydra until the last one of them is brought to justice." He paused, taking a deep breath. "For the Captain. And for the Sergeant."

Dum-Dum sat his bowler back on but without its normal cocky tilt and nodded. "For Cap and Bucky."

~*~

Three days of licking their wounds and Dugan drinking himself into a stupor later, what was left of the Howling Commandos received their orders: The remains of Hydra were in disarray and Arnim Zola was singing like a canary on fire. There was a Hydra research and development lab waiting to be emptied and introduced to Frenchie's boom-booms. Phillips and Carter had sounded less flippant when they'd got their marching orders, but that was the gist of it. Dugan, sober again as soon as a new mission was on the horizon, made noises about taking Zola with them, stuffing a boom-boom up his ass and throwing him in the lab to blow up along with it.

Phillips had rolled his eyes and told Dugan to shut up and get to it but the gleam in Carter's eyes had been very clear. Damn, Gabe would have loved to have her with them.

"This is going to be a simple in and out," Monty said. His voice sounded a little higher than normal. Monty tried not to show it, but though he was just as hot to go after Hydra as they all were, being in command made him sick with nerves. Gabe could see it and sympathized. This was more than a mission now. It was a damned vendetta.

Dernier looked up and curled his lip, before returning to fondling his explosives. He may have been cooing to them too.

Dugan tipped his hat further down his forehead and went back to chewing on his cigar. He chewed so hard a chunk came loose in his mouth, resulting in a bout of choking and coughing and spitting that had Gabe heaving a theatrical sigh.

In silence, when the others didn't notice, Gabe often sighed to himself these days. It went with asking himself if he'd hang around these lunatics if they weren't in a war. It was a pointless question, of course. He was in the Army and everyone in the Army was crazy one way or another. Gabe fought a grin. Cap sure had picked his team from the extra crazy stock.

Morita had a length of yarn from somewhere and was making cat's cradles. He'd trimmed his excuse for a moustache that morning and slipped, leaving it just a little uneven.

Gabe couldn't bear to look at him; the urge to whip out a razor and even up the moustache was nearly overwhelming.

Coming at Morita with a razor would be a good way to get his ass shot, though.

"Carter says Phillips says the interrogators say Zola said – " Monty went on.

Dugan interrupted, "What is this, a game of telephone? Why are we paying attention to that four-eyed weasel?" He glared at Gabe. "You shoulda let Cap wring his scrawny neck."

Gabe got to his feet. "Hey. You weren't there." He'd seen Steve after Bucky's fall and that look of utter emptiness in Steve's eyes. Steve had been in no condition to even go near Zola. It's not like Gabe could have stopped him if Steve had really wanted to kill Zola. But Steve had really … shut down. When Gabe had found him and pulled him back aboard the train, he'd just kept opening and closing his hand, staring at it. Gabe had never given that away to anyone; had told the story of Steve bravely holding back from killing Zola and giving him to Phillips instead.

"Stop it," Monty said. His tone was sharp and commanding in a way it hadn't been before. "We have work to do." Gentler, he added. "We all miss them."

"I still say the damn bastard shouldn't be kept alive. He's up to no good, even in prison."

"It's not our decision, Private," Monty said.

His command style was more formal than Steve's had been. Gabe liked it, though.

Monty adjusted his cap. "Let's go and rain hellfire on what's left of Hydra."

~*~

A piece of the roof dropped onto the tank's carapace. Like most of the Hydra complex, it was on fire. Dum-Dum scrambled out of the tank, dusted sparks from his mustache, and joined the rest of them. His Bowler sat at a particularly jaunty angle. Nothing improved Dum-Dum's mood like chaos and destruction, unless it was booze and women. If the army would only let him blow things up while drinking and fornicating, he'd enlist for life.

"When you said rain hellfire on Hydra, did you mean for Dugan to take it literally?" Jim asked Monty. He squinted skeptically at the room they found themselves in. The fire was really catching hold. It wouldn't be too long before it was bad enough they would need to get out.

"No, but I don't see a problem here, do you?" Monty – _Major_ Falsworth – that was pain in the ass to remember now – replied with raised eyebrows.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut. They still didn't know if there were people inside the building, not to mention what else there was. He felt pretty sure they were supposed to bring stuff back. Or at least be able to say what they destroyed.

Dernier patted Dum-Dum's shoulders and made a kissy noise and gesture with his fingers. _Perfection_. If only Dernier were a woman – though Jim really didn't want to imagine a woman with Frenchie's face – he and Dugan could have been happy together in wedded bliss.

God, he missed the Sarge. Barnes would have kept Dum-Dum from driving the tank straight through a wall and into a building that might be full of creepy Hydra explosives or experiments. It wasn't that Barnes didn't have a wicked sense of humor or a reckless streak, but the man had been real mother hen about the rest of them. All those years riding herd on Rogers and his sisters left their mark. He'd been the best sergeant Jim had ever known.

Luckily, nothing much had exploded. Just the one machine that lit things on fire.

"Forward," Monty directed.

"Your forward or mine?" Gabe asked, since he was facing in a different direction. Jim tried not to snicker. If Monty was going to be in charge, he was going to get the shit they used to give Sarge and Cap.

"Mine," Monty replied with a flip of his hand toward a door now hanging from one hinge.

"After you," Jim said.

"No, no, after you, _mon frere_ ," Gabe insisted.

"Age before beauty?"

"Are you calling me old?" Monty asked.

"No, just we'd all be stuck forever if we did it the other way," Gabe teased back.

"What do you mean, I'm the picture of manly looks," Dum-Dum declared. "And I'm older than all of you!" He hefted his shotgun into position and strode through the door. With mutual snickers, they all scrambled to follow him.

Whatever Hydra minions had been left inside, they'd tried to trash anything the Allies could use. They found a hallway and empty offices, several with file cabinets filled with burning papers, choking smoke billowing from the drawers, wrecked machines – down to the typewriters no less – but no people. Nothing interesting or dangerous at all until finally they reached a set of reinforced doors with heavy locks. The building kept groaning and the hiss-crackle of fire moving through it was punctuated by more pieces of ceiling dropping without warning. 

When they realized they didn't have Sarge's lock-picking skills with them any longer, the victorious mood they'd been enjoying after bowling through Hydra's defenses and taking most of the base dropped. Frenchie was delighted to blow the locks off, though.

Jim pulled his hat down over his ears and hunched his shoulders. He didn't like to think it, but the legendary luck of the Howling Commandos might have run its course. First, they lost Sarge, then Cap, and now he had a bad feeling about this.

He grabbed Dum-Dum's collar and hauled him back from the doors and into a crouch. The others looked at them with wide eyes and then stepped back too.

Good thing.

Frenchie's boom-boom boomed a little too much _BOOM_ and the doors came off their hinges and basically just came apart. Jim pulled his fingers from his ears, shook his head and trundled after Gabe and Dum-Dum. He slapped Frenchie on the shoulder as he went, since he was looking a little unhappy.

Possibly Frenchie felt like the boom had been disappointing since it didn't include much of a fireball. Jim didn't pretend to understand what went on in Frenchie's head. 

The latest explosion had knocked out all the overhead lights and Hydra architecture didn't go in for windows or skylights, so they were peering into near darkness. Only a series of dim red bulbs hanging from wires along the walls offered any illumination. The dust and smoke made everything gray-brown and ghostly.

Beyond the doors, it seemed like they'd found something. The room was big, like a giant gymnasium, and there were bleachers along one wall. That might have been the strangest thing about it.

Or maybe not.

"You think this is what the brass wanted us to go after?" Gabe asked as they looked around the room. It was filled with equipment that baffled Jim. Calculating machines, giant transformers that would have thrilled Stark and fascinated Sarge, glass columns filled with murky, viscous blue fluid that bubbled ominously, and a weird platform at the center that looked like bronze with squiggling marks etched in gold all over. A giant gun-like cone of copper and gold coils hung from the ceiling over it.

It all looked like something from the cover of _Weird Tales_.

"I think they'd want it even if they didn't know about it before," Monty stated.

Dum-Dum wandered forward, with Frenchie right behind him. That couldn't be good. Jim didn't change that opinion even when Dum-Dum found a switch that turned the lights back on. A bone-quivering hum started up, like they'd restarted Hell's own generator. The lights flickered and then the machines all turned on. Somewhere in the foundations, something groaned, and spikes of blinding light shot up through holes in the floor no one had noticed before.

"Anyone know what that says?" Dum-Dum asked. He pointed to a plaque screwed above a control panel. A heavy lever sat in an upward, off position beneath it. A green light blinked at the bottom of the lever and a red one at the top. It looked like it was ready to go and do whatever it had been made to do.

Gabe peered at it.

_Zur Vervielfachung Soldaten hier aufstellen und Auge aktivieren._

"Gather soldiers in place and engage the Eye to double numbers." Gabe shook his head. "I don't think I'm translating it right." 

"What about this writing on the floor?" Monty asked.

Gabe glanced over at the platform and shrugged helplessly. "It looks like runes or maybe Sanskrit? It's nothing I can read."

"More of Adolf's wacky occult stuff," Monty declared in dismissal.

Jim gave him a jaundiced look. After the blue light weapons that vanished people, after Cap, after the Red Skull, after some of the other missions they'd been on, Jim wasn't ready to write _anything_ off. He suggested, "I say we blow it all up and get out of here."

Of course, no one listened to him.

A distant explosion, it sounded like a tank round, shook the walls. Frenchie made an approving noise. Whether of the explosion or Jim's suggestion of another no one could tell.

Dum-Dum climbed onto the platform and headed for the center. "Hey, look at this."

Everyone joined Dum-Dum, even Jim, even as he thought to himself, _This is a bad idea._ He eyed the giant ceiling raygun over them. _Such a bad idea. Land war in Asia bad idea._ From the platform, they could see into the shadows further in the room where there was another platform. They all bent over Dum-Dum's find: a fist-sized golden amulet in the shape of an eye enclosing a virulently green glowing stone.

Another boom from outside shook the entire building. Someone was shelling the Hydra base. Jim would have been fine with that _half an hour ago_. Not now. Smoke filled the room, except for the creepy platform. Dum-Dum pried at the amulet to get it loose. Instead, it twisted and the gold inscriptions on the platform all lit up and rings began twisting like it was some giant puzzle lock. Pieces of ceiling were raining down. Big, chunky, brick pieces of ceiling that would brain anyone they hit.

"Damn it, Dugan!" Monty shouted. He grabbed Dum-Dum's shoulders to pull him away. 

Dum-Dum seemed possessed though and the rest of the commandos joined Monty, but he proved why he'd made a living as a circus strong man and wouldn't be budged. 

He tore the amulet loose as another chunk of ceiling came down, hit the top of a cabinet, tumbled sidewise, and slammed the lever on the control panel down. Yellow light came from the raygun and encompassed them, while a white light shot up in a column from where the amulet had been embedded. He glimpsed a word on the control panel they'd missed before and wondered what _Klon_ meant.

Their bones were glowing green through their flesh and the white light grew blinding. He tightened his grip on Dum-Dum and Gabe and had just enough time to wish all the Commandos could be home and safe. In his mind, that meant Sarge and Cap too. At least if they died now, they'd all be together.

He blinked and swore he could see all of them on the platform from the other one at the far end of the room. What the hell?

The ceiling came down and everything went black.

~*~

He couldn't breathe, damn it. Jacques coughed against dust, soot and what felt like a lead weight sitting on his chest. Opening his eyes took him a few seconds. His ears – never the best to begin with and then shot by too many beautiful explosions – rang.

It was quiet. No more fire. No stars above him. Had Gabe moved him? 

He blinked against the dust in his eyes and tried to draw breath but still couldn't make it work. Something was on his chest, not just figuratively. 

Jacques moved, pushed the weight, and was rewarded with two things: A thump and an almighty groan that sounded all too much like Dugan and a sweet, clean, deep breath of air whooshing into his lungs. He coughed again and gulped in more air.

"What the hell, Frenchie?" came Dugan's voice, muffled and annoyed. 

"Running the tank into the base was your idea, Dugan," Jim's voice came somewhere from the left, raspy and dry as usual. "Don't take it out on Frenchie."

Jacques quietly agreed. Though the fire was on him. He'd take credit for that every day. And a beautiful explosion it had been too.

"Jones?" 

"Don't shout, I can hear you." Gabe's voice sounded like he had eaten sandpaper. He coughed.

"Monty?"

"Despite Dernier's explosives, my ears are perfectly fine. No need to shout here, either."

"Okay, Monty's there, too."

Jacques bit back on a snort of laughter at Monty's huff of annoyance.

"Why is it darker than a bear's ass?"

"That would be because I do not require light and prefer to conserve energy."

Jacques stopped breathing and went stock still. Though with a British accent, that had not been Monty's voice.

"May I inquire what you are doing in my bedroom?"

The rest of his team fell to a tense silence as well. He swore he could hear Dugan and Gabe thinking loud _What the hell?_ though. 

Jacques fumbled for his utility belt. He knew he'd had a grenade left.

"Oh, pardon me, I think some light might be in order." The voice came again. "Friday, lights at twenty-five per cent."

Light flooded the room they were in without warning and Dernier found himself faced with a creature with human features but … looking as if it had fallen into a box of oil paint.

It looked quizzical but not hostile.

"Bonjour," was the most intelligent thing Jacques could come up with. He blinked.

The creature was naked.

Behind him, Gabe shrieked. Dum-Dum had kneed him tumbling off the bed.

~*~

"Intruder alert."

The two words had James rolling out of Steve's octopus-like embrace and reaching for the gun in the bedside table before his brain had even fully booted.

"Where?"

"Vision's quarters," Friday's answer came, smooth as though she were reading the weather forecast. 

He still missed Jarvis.

James reached for the door and started running. Over his own breath and the sound of his bare feet on polished stone tiles, he heard Steve scramble out of bed as well and a metallic scratch-clang as Steve reached for his shield. Seconds later, Steve darted out of the room and was at James' shoulder. The Ultron debacle was still reason for nightmares and an intruder alert in Vision's quarters did not bode well.

"Stay back, I'll go in first," Steve said. "I don't want you in the line of fire."

"We've talked about that, Steve," James said, making a point to jump down the entire landing to the floor below in one cat-like move. They had. Several long conversations and a few minor fights had led to the truce that James would join a fight when it was his decision and not anyone else's. There was a difference between actively seeking out action as an Avenger and defending himself or his friends. "I'm a big boy."

"I know." Steve landed just behind him. He started jogging backwards with the shield in front of him. "I'm just protective."

"Show off."

Giving James a once-over, Steve flashed an insolent grin. "Love the shorts."

James remembered he'd chosen the Christmas boxers the night before and laughed. He raised his voice, "Focus!" 

"I'm multi-tasking. Learned that from Nat." Steve had somehow managed to turn them around so that he reached the door to Vision's quarters first. Sneaky. Maybe he had been paying attention to Natasha's advice.

"If the geriatric set could concentrate on the emergency instead of flirting, that would be, you know, awesome," Tony's voice filtered from the speakers. "Back up is on its way, in case the shock and awe of two super soldiers in their altogether isn't enough."

James sighed to himself, then snickered. At least he had on boxers.

"Friday, open the door," Steve ordered.

~*~

The door flew open and Monty’s jaw dropped.

Steve. The man standing in the doorway, covered by the familiar shield … That was Steve. Steve Rogers, who was supposed to be lost in the Atlantic Ocean. Who they thought was _dead _.__

__Who was also as starkers as the purple bloke. What the hell was going on?_ _

__He really wished for a cup of tea to lubricate the gears in his head that were currently stuck on repeating, _‘What?’__ _

__“Cap?” Gabe asked, his voice a kind of awed whisper. An awed, squeaky whisper, because Dum-Dum's knee had been quite unkind._ _

__“You son of a gun, I knew it!” Dum-Dum hollered and started to walk toward Steve in his signature 'I'm going to hug you so hard your ribs squeak' strut._ _

__The man who looked like Steve stood stock-still, the shield – that was THE shield, right? – still raised in front of him as though he wanted to fend Dugan off. Luckily, it hid most of his torso._ _

__Dugan stopped when he realised he couldn't get around the shield and looked like a bedraggled puppy. An oversized, dirty, scraggly puppy._ _

__“Is this some kind of a sick joke?” Steve – it was Steve, right? Not some kind of a Doppelgänger produced by Hydra? – asked, taking a step back. “First James, now you?” He turned toward the door, showing an alarming amount of pale arse. More than Monty wanted to see ever again. Hydra might do a lot, but Monty doubted they were able to replicate Steve down to _that_ much detail. Unless they’d had spies in the bushes when the Howlies went skinny-dipping in the various rivers throughout Europe._ _

__There was a second man just behind Steve, long hair in his face, upper body and legs bare, but thankfully wearing brightly-colored boxers, less thankfully aiming a handgun at them. Monty thought he looked familiar but was still too dumbstruck by Steve's appearance to figure out who he was._ _

__Steve snarled at someone else Monty couldn't see. "Tony, if this is your idea of a joke, I’m – "_ _

__“You’re what, oh star-spangled …” A pause, and a short man with an uncanny likeness to Howard Stark appeared behind Steve. “Wait, let me rephrase that, oh unclothed man with a plan. This is no joke. Also, what the hell? Was there a discount time travel package through the VA? Friday, make a note, ask Strange. This is getting ridiculous."_ _

__The man with the gun growled, "They got through _your_ security." _ _

__"Yours too, my Winter Dumpling. Can I say, I am a huge fan of those boxers. I mean, look where Rudolph's red nose is."_ _

__"Can the fashion advice," Steve snapped. "How did they get in here?"_ _

__"Oh, good question. Right up there with are they who they look like they are?" The man apparently named Tony's inquisitive gaze pinned them all in place and his eyebrows went up, waiting for an answer._ _

____

~*~

The rest of the Commandos were distracted by Steve alive and le homme violet both sans clothes. Jacques knew that if this was a Hydra trick, there would be more guns and uniforms and less embarrassment all around. Those connards were very concerned with their dignity.

Not so the Howling Commandos, who probably couldn't even spell dignity. Witness Gabriel's elbow dangerously close to the Dernier family jewels and Monty's behind in Morita's lap and all of them ending up on someone's bed.

Bed meant bedroom and Jacques looked around while Dum-Dum attempted to hug Steve.

Nothing looked the way it should, but Jacques could recognize the marks of unconscious wealth wherever he looked. The carpet, the high ceilings, the temperature, the lights – now that they were on – the duvet: all spoke of quality. The room's furnishings, while spare, were not just a collection of inherited or randomly acquired items. It was decorated. Jacques had seen enough of the interiors of manor houses and palaces the military had occupied during the war to recognize that while it in no way resembled the style of those establishments, it was the same.

Jacques seated himself at the edge of the precisely made bed – le homme violet had obviously not retired to sleep when the Commandos arrived – and checked his satchel of explosives. They were fussy and there was no predicting what the strange lights back in that Hydra lab had done to them.

"Is that dynamite?" asked the goateed fellow named Tony, who was wearing a ragged undershirt and pyjama pants printed with penguins. He had a red and gold metal gauntlet on one hand.

" _Oui_ ," Jacques replied. He clutched the satchel closer and eyed the man warily. If he were quick enough, he might get them out of the room with a well-placed explosion.

"Frenchie, no explosions!" Steve exclaimed as he fended off Dum-Dum once more.

"Friday, is that dynamite any danger to us?" Tony asked. 

"Not unless he gets to the lighter in his right trouser pocket," a female voice announced.

"James, wait –"

A quick movement, faster than he could comprehend or fend off, and Jacques was on his back, the satchel with the dynamite out of his hands and the lighter gone from his pocket. He was left to stare at the man looking down at him with mild curiosity.

"Situation secure," the man announced. 

Another dead man.

Bucky Barnes.

It _was_ Bucky, but transformed. Surely this man had not visited a barber in years. He appeared taller and far better fed than their comrade in arms had been – Jacques had not been oblivious to Bucky surreptitiously slipping half his rations to Steve, who was always hungry – and it wasn't hard to see that, since he wore only boxers. Which appeared to have deer on them along with sleighs and Christmas trees.

Jacques was both unsettled by the fabric and grateful. The matte black, large handgun the man who looked like Bucky carried would not serve as a fig leaf half so well as Steve's shield. Scars mutilated this man's chest and collar bones, radiating from where a shining metal arm attached to him, its plates lifting and re-aligning with a sound Jacques found alarmingly like a growl.

His team around him had frozen, not even attempting to stop the man who looked like Bucky.

"Captain, Sergeant," Monty said. He sounded both unsure and shell-shocked but collected enough he didn't use Steve and Bucky's names in front of strangers. "Is it really you?"

"Who the hell are you?" the Bucky-look-alike demanded as Jacques carefully sat up again. "And where did you come from? How did you get in here?" He sounded like Bucky, too. Dieu, Jacques had missed him. Could it really be?

"You do not recognize these men?" le homme violet asked.

He turned toward the Commandos and Jacques resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

"I recognize who they're supposed to be, but they're dead."

"Well, so were you and Captain Spangle-Dangle here," Tony said. 

Steve made a choked noise and blushed from his hair line down as far as Jacques could see with him clutching the shield over his groin like a Victorian maiden caught in a Turkish bath. That definitely was so much like the Steve Jacques remembered that his doubts lessened.

Le homme violet seemed oblivious to his own lack of attire.

"It's them, James. Frenchie, Monty, Dum-Dum, Gabe, Jim," Steve said. "I have no idea how, but it's them. I'd know their stink a mile away."

"Hey!" Gabriel protested.

Jacques gave himself a surreptitious sniff, then shrugged. Sweat, wool, cigarettes, blood, cordite and smoke … Nothing out of the ordinary.

The Bucky look-alike's mouth hitched up in an almost smile when he saw what Jacques was doing. Jacques wondered again if this man was Bucky. He had never heard Steve call him anything but his nickname.

He was distracted, though, by the arrival of more people: a handsome black man, a stocky man scratching at his unshaven chin with an arrow – which made sense of the bow he clutched in his other hand – and two spectacular redheaded women.

All of them clothed. Perhaps they were late because they had stopped to dress themselves. In the ladies' case, that was a shame.

Though the body-outlining suit the one woman wore could barely be considered clothed. Something about her screamed _Danger!_ Jacques considered falling in love.

"Oh my God, Viz, what have we said about putting on pants?" the sweet-faced woman demanded. 

"That I should always wear them outside the showers or my bedroom, Wanda," le homme violet replied obediently. "But, Wanda, this is my bedroom."

"And, Steve, really?" Wanda aimed an exasperated look at Steve who turned an even more alarming shade of red and retreated against the Bucky look-alike who just rolled his eyes skyward.

Jacques, who'd never dealt with embarrassment well, made eye-contact with the Bucky-lookalike to show he meant no harm, then swept the duvet off the bed and handed it to Steve. He offered the sheet to le homme violet.

"Thanks, Frenchie," Steve said as he awkwardly tried to keep the shield in place and wrap the duvet around himself with one hand. Jacques startled at how easy the sound of the familiar nickname slotted into an empty space in his chest. They had Steve back. Steve, who they thought was _dead_. He wasn't so sure about the other man.

With a loud sigh, the Bucky look-alike handed his pistol to the dangerous redhead and took the duvet, efficiently wrapping and tucking it around Steve. It served its purpose, but Steve now looked like a Greek statue with a shield and a still alarmingly red face. Jacques fought a grin. Having Steve back meant having all the chances to tease him again.

"It's your bedroom, but there are other people here who would appreciate you being dressed," Wanda told le homme violet. And, to Steve, " _Everyone_ would appreciate _everyone_ being dressed."

"Very well," le homme violet agreed. He withdrew pants and a shirt and underwear from a wardrobe and took them into the attached bath.

Once the door to the _en suite_ closed, Tony gave a loud snort of laughter. "Now we know that Ultron and Helen Cho went for the anatomically correct version."

The bowman leaned against the door frame and yawned. "Didn't need to know that. So, if there's no one shooting anyone, I'm going back to bed."

It was a large bedroom, but with five Commandos, two large and mostly naked men, Tony, two lovely ladies, and two more men hovering at the doorway, even with the exit of le homme violet, it was unpleasantly crowded. Also, everything was so clean that Jacques was uncomfortably aware of how correct Steve had been earlier – he and the rest of the Commandos were dirty, sweaty and reeked.

"Maybe we could move this to the conference room or the rec room?" the dangerous redhead suggested. Jacques was closer and closer to being in love. The faintest hint of an accent graced her husky voice. "Steve and James could get dressed and our guests could all take a shower."

"What, no interrogation first?"

"I prefer interrogating people who do not insult my sense of smell." The dangerous redhead angled her upper body toward Steve, but Jacques didn't kid himself – she still had them all in her peripheral vision. One false move and she would shoot them. "Steve, is this your old team?"

Steve scratched at his chin with the shield, still clutching the duvet with the other hand. "What was the first thing you said to me when we met?"

"I asked you who you were supposed to be," Gabe said. "God, your shield back then was like a circus toy."

Steve twitched a grin. "That's good enough for a shower for now." 

"Leave your weapons outside," the Bucky look-alike said. "And, Friday, get the coffee maker started."

"Gladly, Sergeant Barnes."

Jacques exchanged a lifted brow look with Gabriel. So it really was Bucky?

"She's just never going to call me James, is she?" A certain sadness reverberated in Bucky's – really? Was it really Bucky? voice.

"She's not Jarvis," Steve said, sounding surprisingly gentle.

Bucky sighed. "Don't I know it."

"Come on, I think we all need coffee for this," Tony said. "Friday, watch our guests. Zap them if they do anything besides take a shower."

"Ah," Dum-Dum began.

"No, not that, God. They can do that. Just don't tell me about it." Tony wiped a hand over his face while Steve shared a look with Bucky and grinned. "Friday. Coffee. Now."

"Meeting in the conference room in twenty minutes."

~*~

Sam stuck around to guide the Commandos to the conference room. Friday insisted she could do that, but Steve worried about how they'd react to a voice from the walls.

James wanted to point out that they were familiar with intercoms and radios and unlikely to jump to the conclusion of built-in AI or be bothered by the concept. He didn't because he couldn't really know. Hydra had kept him updated on technology and everything else had been new to him when he came to the Tower. He hadn't had a context for anything to clash with – the only things that had bothered him for a long time were the ways everyone ignored mission protocols. Once he internalized that life was a mission, he understood them better.

He still thought everyone except Natasha was insanely oblivious to the dangers surrounding them, but kept it to himself. They all thought he was paranoid because of Hydra.

Of course, Steve was convinced these men were the original Howling Commandos. James would concede they looked and acted convincingly. But unlike Steve, he wasn't emotionally connected to them – maybe he had been once, but he no longer was. He had no skin in the game; it didn't matter to him if they were or not.

All James cared about was whether they were a threat. Once Sam had them shepherded to the locker room showers off the facility's gym, James peeled off and returned to their quarters.

He reached the conference room ahead of Steve, dressed and armed (because he knew Steve would forget the latter) and found Tony and Natasha there, along with a Vision. Good. These were the people he wanted to talk to about the interlopers.

"Hey," Natasha greeted him.

"Water's hot for tea," Tony added. James had never re-acquired a taste for coffee, though he'd gradually become attuned to foods that weren't all-organic heirlooms. He still preferred the food Tony (really Pepper) had arranged to supply to the Tower and Avengers HQ though; eating Sam's mom's food had made him something of a snob.

James nodded and went about making a cup for himself, Natasha and Vision.

"So, you think these guys are the real thing?" Tony asked.

James shrugged. He was the wrong person to ask.

"If they aren't, they are the most ingenuous, convincing replicas I have ever seen," Natasha commented.

"I took the liberty of scanning them to ensure they were not Life Model Decoys or any other variety of android," Vision said.

"Is it safe to assume you would tell us if they were?" Tony asked. He and Vision might never be comfortable with each other. 

James got it. He missed Jarvis every time he interacted with Vision himself. Jarvis had been creation, son, best friend and father figure to Tony, all wrapped into one. Losing him was a worse punishment than all of Steve's disapproval after Sokovia.

"They are not," Vision confirmed.

"Well, that's great." Tony slurped down his coffee. "Do we have any way of figuring out if they're shapechanging aliens? Are there shapechanging aliens? I wish Thor was here. He'd know."

"Probably not," James pointed out, "since to convince Steve, they'd have to be using his memories of the Commandos, and that would mean they're telepaths."

"Ugh," Tony and Natasha both agreed and shared surprised looks. 

James smirked. Of course, neither of them would want anyone peeping in their heads. Neither would he.

"Perhaps we should take it as given that they are, indeed, the Howling Commandos circa 1945," Vision said, "and turn our attention to the inherent implications."

"Time travel!" Tony exclaimed excitedly.

"Precisely."

"Aw, crap," Tony's excitement collapsed. "If they're really from the past, we have to send them back. They do important things after the war." He looked at his empty cup as if it had personally betrayed him, then headed for the coffeemaker. "Friday, check post-WWII history for mentions of the Howling Commandos, as a group and as individuals."

"There are five hundred ninety-four thousand mentions of the Howling Commandos," Friday replied promptly. "A significantly higher return in conjunction with Captain America, World War II, and SHIELD search terms. These include Internet pages, magazine articles, documentaries, films, and both fiction and non-fiction book titles available for purchase."

Tony chugged more coffee, then set the cup down to scrub at his unshaven face. The bags under his dark eyes weren't as deep and bruised as James had seen them at times, but they were there. Pepper was not going to be happy with any of them. Visiting HQ was supposed to relieve some of Tony's stress, not exacerbate it.

"None of that mentions their mysterious disappearance, does it?" Natasha asked. She'd pinned down the essential question.

"No, Agent Romanoff," Friday stated. "While I have no tools to ascertain whether a change in the timeline has affected the data I have access to, it appears that the Commandos continued to operate throughout Europe after Sergeant Barnes’ and Captain Rogers' presumed deaths until the end of the war. Mr. Dugan continued with the military and a unit using the same designation in the field after the SSR was re-tasked as SHIELD, Mr. Jones was recruited by SHIELD, Major Falsworth left the military but had a long and prestigious career with British Intelligence, Mr. Dernier returned to France. It is unconfirmed, but highly likely he worked with or for French Intelligence until he was killed in 1961, in a bombing during the French-Algerian War. Mr. Morita left the service and returned to California, where he married and ran a very successful farm, before being elected to the US Senate, where he served consecutive terms until he suffered a stroke at age 91. All of them appear to have made important post-war contributions to history."

Tony snorted.

"What does that tell you?" Natasha asked.

James shrugged before answering, "Call history the way it was before time travel reared its head Timeline Prime. As soon as the time travellers show up in Vision's room, we're all in Timeline Beta. Timeline Beta may or may not be identical to Timeline Prime, but we have no way of knowing."

He glanced at Tony, silently asking if he wanted to take over the explanation. Tony waved at him to go on, so James did. He'd been working it out in his head since he'd recognized the intruders' faces and Steve and Vision confirmed that they were real.

"We presume that Timeline Prime is the best timeline possible, but again, we have no way of knowing."

"While everyone worries that going into the past and stepping on a bug could change the future for the worse," Tony interrupted, "no one ever believes it might change it for the better. But the truth is, we have zero way of knowing if Timeline Prime is pristine or the best possible outcome."

"So, here we are in Timeline Beta. Possibly, we have or will send the travellers back and they do the things history says they did to end up with Timeline Prime," James went on. "Nothing changes."

"Hardly likely," Tony said.

Natasha nodded, either that she agreed or that she understood.

"Possibly, they do and do not do the stuff history says they did and that's how it came about, but just as possibly, the instant they appeared here and now, Timeline Beta did change from Timeline Prime, because we sent them back and they then did and didn't do these things to make the history of Timeline Beta."

"I'm getting a headache," Tony said.

"Basically, the minute they showed up, we stopped being able to know what the past was before that," Natasha said.

James nodded. "And anything we do now, changes what happens then, even if we send them back."

"And there's the possibility that time is flexible and self-healing enough that even removing important figures won't significantly change history," Tony said. "Even though I'm not partial to the idea of destiny, I do believe in inertia, so I favour that theory."

"But it is a theory, one you can't prove," Steve said from the doorway, startling them all, even James. Attuned to his particular way of walking, he usually heard Steve arriving. "They have to go back."

"Probably," Tony agreed, "but I want to be sure we're not screwing things up worse by doing that before we commit. In the meantime, I think we should show these guys a good time in the future."

"But everything they learn will change how they act in the past," Steve protested.

"So you want to lock them in solitary confinement?" Tony snapped. "You think that won't affect them? Look, what James was explaining to Natasha is that there is nothing we can do that will _not_ change things. Trying to not change things may change things. Time travel theory devolves into infinitely penduluming corrections, unless you want to believe in infinitely branching timelines. I'm a big fan of multiverse theory, myself, and using the multiverse theory, your buddies are actually from a really, really close universe, and so their arrival here doesn't change our history at all."

"But that's just a theory," Steve said stubbornly.

" _Everything_ is a theory!" Tony shouted. "There's no way to prove otherwise. But if my theory is right, there's no reason to send them back and no actual way to do it either. They'd just go to another universe, not their original one _or_ ours."

"We can't take that chance," Steve argued and his face crumpled. 

This was much more important to Steve than the rest of them. James abandoned his tea and wrapped his hand around Steve's wrist and squeezed. Steve twisted his arm and James let his hand slide down until he could lace his fingers through Steve's and hold on. Steve held on tightly enough James was grateful for super soldier bone density. 

"We're not going to take any chances," Tony reassured him. "I know you don't trust me, but James and Bruce and everyone will be keeping an eye on me. And you trust James, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve said quietly, but without contradicting him. 

James squeezed him a little harder. _He_ trusted Tony. Under the circumstances, maybe more than Steve.

"What did you do to Tony?" Wanda asked as she came into the room.

"Nothing," Tony said. 

Wanda probably would have cheered Steve on if he _had_ done something. Tony was not her favorite person, even if she had sworn off trying to kill him.

"Shall I make you some tea, Wanda?" Vision asked.

Vision's thing – if the android could have one – for Wanda was borderline creepy sometimes. He seemed oblivious to the fact everyone around them could observe his attempts at, what?, friendship, courtship, acting like a human? James knew the latter was harder than it looked. Even a year after escaping Hydra and living with the Avengers, he knew his affect had been 'off' enough to throw people sometimes, and he had hormones and reflexes that Vision never would. He felt a little sorry for Vision sometimes.

"No thanks, Viz," Wanda said.

"Coffee? Cocoa? Juice? Cocktail? Water?" Vision listed. "Wine, whiskey, perhaps a tisane – "

"I'll get myself something." Wanda wafted past Vision and into the kitchen. Nothing was said about the cocktail offer. Everyone remembered Vision's efforts at cocktail mixing. They were memorable. Even Thor had winced at the tastes, though. And Thor liked Poptarts and dirty water hotdogs. Both of which made James shudder. Thor had the tastes and digestion of a bilgesnipe, though he was a great guy otherwise.

Clint stumbled in next, croaked, "Coffee?" and slumped onto one of the sectional sofas, eyes heavier than the scruff on his jaw. 

"So what do we do with them?" Natasha asked what they were all thinking. It was safe to assume Sam, while not present, would have the same question in his head.

"Well, we can't have them stuffed and mounted and put on display at the Smithsonian," Clint said.

"Clint!" Wanda and Steve protested.

He waved a weak hand. "Joking."

Tony brought Clint a mug of coffee. Clint always got his coffee in a mug, not a nice cup like the tea drinkers got. Clint didn't break the mugs, but they always seemed to get lost or forgotten someplace where someone else would encounter them unexpectedly – and break a less sturdy piece of ceramic than the special 'Clint' mugs. 

Clint's mugs were over-sized too and Tony was Pepper-banned from using them, since they let him lie about how many 'cups' he'd drunk in one day.

"Okay, so these guys fell forward in time?" Clint asked.

"That's what it looks like."

"Do they want to kill us?"

"No!" Steve's answer was vehement. James agreed quietly, though. He had sense for danger, and it hadn't even tingled when he met the guys.

"James?"

"I think Steve's right."

"Nat?"

"I agree."

"Well, now that's settled … I'm going back to bed. It's too early for coffee."

Steve gaped at him. James couldn't help it: He reached over and moved Steve's chin up with his index finger. Slack-jawed looked pretty on no one. Not even Steve.

"I'm with Clint," Natasha said, yawning. "Friday can keep their quarters locked and we can interrogate them in the morning."

"We're not interrogating them!" Steve spluttered.

"Fine: asking them nicely how they got there."

"I know what your 'asking nicely' looks like."

"Steve, they're essentially strangers. You're too trusting."

James couldn't help but agree.

"If the parents are squabbling, I'm going to bed as well," Wanda hid a yawn behind her hand and rose.

"Why is no one asking my opinion?" Tony sounded wounded.

"You live with the most terrifying woman in the world besides Nat and you annoy her on a regular basis. You have no sense of danger. Makes no sense asking you."

Tony looked ready to argue, but miraculously reconsidered. He clapped his hands. "Rooms have been set up for them. Steve, go talk to them, get them tucked in, then let's all get some sleep. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."

~*~

"I'm Sam Wilson," their guide introduced himself. "No one here has any damn manners. The voice from the walls is FRIDAY, Tony's latest AI – "

"I take exception at that characterization," the dulcet, faintly Irish voice interrupted. "I am not some cybernetic floozy."

"Sorry," Wilson replied with a glance toward the ceiling. "Anyway, here, this is the gym and the locker room – it's co-ed, but the girls won't interrupt you." He led them toward a wall of showers. "There's soap and loofahs and every damn hair care product on the planet between Barnes and Tony and Nat and Thor. Use whatever you want. Hot water's unlimited."

Jim glanced around. Everywhere they'd been looked brand-spanking new, shiny and clean and expensive. He wasn't convinced yet that they were safe. Letting his guard as well as his pants down in a shower in an unknown place seemed like the worst idea ever, but on the other hand, it didn't look like anything the Germans or Hydra would have shelled money out for. Howard Stark, maybe, but not Hydra. Plus, neither of the Commandos has showered in weeks. He was torn between not wanting to waste hot water and thinking this place looked like it would be unlimited. He wouldn't mind an hour-long hot shower. And who knew what a _loofah_ was.

"Flannels?" Dum-Dum asked. He seemed less bothered.

"In the cabinets beside the showers. There are also towels in the warmer, along with robes," Friday announced, making Jim jump. The tiles in the showers made her voice echo strangely.

Wilson noticed and snorted. "Yeah, she's everywhere, you get used to it."

"I don't peek unless there is a problem," Friday said loftily.

Wilson shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll let you guys get to it." His teeth flashed white in a mischievous grin. "Once we get this straightened out, I'm gonna need you to dish the dirt on Steve."

"Sarge too closed mouth to share the good stories?" Gabe asked.

Wilson winced. "Yeah, that's a sore point. Barnes isn't the guy you remember. He doesn't remember. So maybe watch what you say. He's stable these days, but he's still the Winter Soldier too."

He left after that, leaving Jim to trade befuddled looks with Gabe and Monty. Winter Soldier? Dum-Dum and Dernier were already stripping down, leaving their clothes in stinking piles on the floor and their gear on the padded benches in front of the lockers.

"You notice no one needed us to introduce ourselves?" Monty asked. He undressed a little more methodically than Dum-Dum or Dernier, who were already making happy noises at the water pressure and heat. Steam billowed enticingly. Jim sat down to unlace his boots and considered Monty's observation.

"No," he said, "but you're right. Steve knows us, but everyone seemed to recognize us."

"So he must talk about us," Gabe said.

"But why not contact us?" Monty questioned.

Jim looked around the locker room. It wasn't that different than ones he'd been in before, until he paid attention. The lights were different, brighter, whiter, recessed in the ceilings. The floor was warm beneath his feet now they were bare. The materials looked off, not metal, not enamel or porcelain or wood. There was no noise from outside. Even the smells were off.

"I don't think we're in Germany," he said and added, "I don't think we're in 1945 either."

Gabe cocked an eyebrow at him, but Jim ignored it and headed for the showers. He didn't want to find out that the 'unlimited' hot water was a generous description.

It wasn't; Jim finished washing up feeling clean and warm for the first time in months. The heavy towelling Turkish robes were sized for men like Steve or bigger. He had to pick his up to keep it from dragging on the floor. 

"Don't forget to curtsey," Dum-Dum teased. The next minute he was scowling at the locker room. "Hey, where're our clothes?"

Jim peered around him and noted their gear was still there and appeared untouched, as were their boots.

"I've taken the opportunity to have your uniforms cleaned," Friday announced out of thin air. "Mr. Barton, Mr. Barnes, Captain Rogers, Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Hill, and Mr. Wilson have all impressed on me that their boots should be left to them to care for, so I have left yours, along with your other belongings. An assortment of clothing in your sizes has been delivered – you can find it in the first row of lockers, along with personal care products. Please avail yourself of them and when you are dressed, I will direct you to one of the armament rooms, where you can clean and care for your gear."

"What about Cap?" Jim asked since Friday – whatever rank AI was – seemed to have been assigned to help them. 

"Captain Rogers is available in the event of an emergency, but he is busy at the moment. I'm sure that he will speak with you as soon as he is able. Please feel free to ask me anything you would ask him."

"I don't think so," Gabe muttered. 

Jim swore he heard Friday sniff like she'd heard Gabe. He imagined her as a petite brunette sitting somewhere behind a microphone. Another red-head would have been too much. They gathered up their gear, including their boots – though their foul socks were gone – and followed Friday's directions to the armament room. A quick check proved that the door into the actual armory was locked.

"Kind of surprised they left us our guns," Gabe commented as they field stripped their weapons and started cleaning them. The smell of gun oil, the ritual of it, was calming and almost reflexive at this point. Jim was reminded of his mother washing dishes. It was a job and one that had to be done over and over, but it soothed him because when he finished his weapon was ready for use. His mom was always satisfied when her plates and pots and silver were all clean and polished, put away and ready for use.

"Cap trusts us," Dum-Dum replied confidently.

"Or they're sure they can handle us, whether we're armed or not," Gabe replied. 

Dernier made a derisive noise.

Jim looked around the men at the table with him. "Anyone want to talk about what the hell happened or what's going on?" He waved the brush in his hand at the room, indicating everything they'd seen so far. "This place? Cap and Sarge? The voice that can see and hear and talk to us wherever we are in here?"

"Sarge's underwear?" Dum-Dum added jokingly.

"How about that he was pointing a gun at us and didn't even say hello?" Jim said.

"Are we sure it's Steve?" Gabe asked.

"It certainly looked like his arse," Monty muttered.

"Paying special attention, old boy?" Dum-Dum mocked.

"Some things scar you forever," Monty replied haughtily. "I had to look at Steve in self-defence when you stripped down that time – "

" – with the ant hill," Jim agreed. They'd all managed to stay still and silent while a German patrol passed within a few feet of them, but had to tear their uniforms off afterward to get rid of the ants that had 'infiltrated' while they hid out. Dum-Dum had hopped and flapped and slapped at himself while cursing silently, in an epic performance Jim would have nightmares about until he died.

"Speaking of Sarge," Dum-Dum said quietly, "did you see the arm?"

"And the scars," Gabe added.

"How bad did he get hurt that he doesn't remember us?"

Jim stared at Dum-Dum. "He fell into a frozen gorge from a moving god damn train and we all assumed he was _dead_. We never even went back for his body. And then Cap… " Only it seemed Steve hadn't got himself killed stopping the Red Skull. And that raised a whole lot of other questions, like if Steve was alive, was the Skull alive too? Had they really stopped Hydra?

That grim truth silenced them all.

"Whatever happened to Sarge, that's on us," Jim said. "But I get the feeling this Winter Soldier business is a whole world of worse."

Dernier, who as usual was following along without saying anything, nodded.

"Fine, but what the hell is going on?" Monty said. 

"Let's quit sitting around with our thumbs up our asses and get some damn answers!" Dum-Dum declared. He finished reassembling his sidearm, cleared it, loaded it and slid it into its holster.

"We're going to need to wait and watch, see what they tell us and if it fits what we know and can find out on our own," Gabe advised.

"Gather intelligence, you mean," Monty clarified.

"And test them, see if they're more than just talk," Jim said. He tried to think of what Sarge would have done if he'd been with them instead of mysteriously alive and acting like he didn't know them. Sarge had always been the best at outsmarting the enemy and the brass. "Push their buttons, but keep it subtle – "

Monty lost it and gave out a honking laugh that Dum-Dum joined. 

Jim flapped a hand at them. "Yeah, I know, but don't antagonize them. _Annoy_ them." 

Dernier started snickering at that.

"Playing to our strengths, are we?" Monty finally spluttered out.

Jim smiled at him. "Get on their nerves, act like idiots, break stuff, insult them, but make it all seem accidental."

"Someone will snap and we'll get an idea of if this is all some kind of elaborate shenanigans." Monty got up. "All right, men, Operation: Arsehole is the plan. Let's go."

Dum-Dum clapped his bowler on, then looked uncertain. "Unh, what should I do exactly?"

"Just be yourself, Dum-Dum," Jim told him.

Monty headed for the door and they all stood up to follow him. It opened just as he reached it and Friday informed them, "Mr. Wilson will accompany you to the team breakroom. Captain Rogers will meet you there." 

They stepped into one of the overly bright corridors in time to see Wilson turn a corner. He was yawning, a reminder that they had showed up wherever they were in the middle of the night. No one had expected them, which was oddly reassuring. "Hey," he greeted them, "ready to see Steve?"

"We are," Monty said.

Jim motioned to Gabe to hang back with him. Gabe slowed his stride, letting Dum-Dum and Dernier go ahead. He ducked slightly so Jim could keep his voice low. He knew Monty was too busy worrying over being in charge of the unit or if Steve was back in command now he was here to have paid attention to all the little clues everywhere around them. What Dernier had figured out, he was keeping to himself and Dum-Dum… Well, they didn't call him that just for the way he scored the tips of his bullets. Gabe, though, was smarter than all of them, including Steve and Bucky.

"Are you thinking what I am?" Jim asked Gabe.

"That we aren't in Kansas anymore?"

"Or Germany," Jim said.

"So that creepy Hydra gun thing transported us somewhere," Gabe agreed. "Yeah. Middle of the night here, was mid-morning when we got zapped."

"I think it did more than that."

"Like?"

"Like I think we're in the future."

"Bull shit," Gabe said, but he didn't sound certain.

"Were you listening when Cap and Sarge bulldozed in along with the other guy?"

"I miss something?" Gabe asked. He slowed even more. If they didn't speed up soon, they were going to lose sight of the rest of the unit at the next turn in the hall.

"Yeah," Jim told him. "He joked about a discount time travel package."

Gabe almost tripped on his own feet, then looked around wildly, taking their surroundings in with new eyes. "Sonova – how screwed are we?"

"Just keep an eye out until we know more," Jim said. "We need to wait and see if these people are straight with us."

"Even Cap?"

Jim felt lousy saying it, but, "Even Cap."

~*~

"You're leaving?" Steve asked in protest.

"They're your old team, not mine," James told him.

James looked tired and Steve felt bad the moment he saw the line appear between James' brows. Dealing with his past, the spectre of Bucky and the memories he'd lost, always exhausted James.

"It might be nice for you to meet them," he tried again. "They're good people."

"We're not sure that it's really them yet."

"You could help me do a risk assessment?"

James narrowed his eyes at Steve. "Are you afraid to meet them on your own?"

Steve had to force himself to meet James's gaze. "No." He wasn't afraid, he was just… reluctant. Anything you wanted so much always came with a price.

James shook his head at Steve "I'm leaving now. I'll monitor you." 

The hand-holding earlier had been more PDA than James usually displayed, but he surprised Steve by pulling him into half-hug and nudging a kiss to his temple.

Steve let him go but didn't abandon the idea. James needed to know more people, people who weren't Avengers or Avengers adjacent or assassins. It would be good for him. Good for them both. 

The door opened.

"They're all yours," Sam announced as he ushered the Commandos inside. "I'm going back to bed. If you need anything though …"

"Thanks, Sam. I'll be fine. James isn't far." James was in the next room by now, watching on a screen, ready to spring into action at the first sign of a threat, even though Steve could handle five people on his own just fine.

There was a moment of silence once the door closed behind Sam, which gave Steve the chance to look at them all. Now clean, shaven and in fresh clothes, they almost looked unfamiliar. Most of Steve's memories of the Howling Commandos had them in various stages of dirty and sweaty and/or banged up.

"This isn't some elaborate Hydra trick? We haven't been drugged?" Monty asked. "We're not hallucinating this? And we're not dead and you're not a ghost?"

Leave it to Monty to think of drugs. He'd always been the one to know about which mushrooms to eat to have some _recreational fun_ , as he'd called it.

Dum-Dum scratched his head. "You can't touch hallucinations or ghosts, right?"

Steve grinned. "I'm pretty sure that's right."

"All right then. Out of the way, everyone."

Steve forced himself to stand still as Dum-Dum came close to him and studied him, left, right, front and back. "Looks like Steve." He came closer still and sniffed. "Smells much better than he used to, though."

"So do we," Gabe interjected.

"Good point," Dum-Dum admitted. He chewed on his bottom lip. "Okay, so. If you're really Steve Rogers and not some kind of a weird Doppelgänger, you'll …"

Steve wrinkled his brows. "I'll what?"

"Shriek lie a girl in a second."

Oh, no. Oh, oh, _no_. James was watching. He could never find out about this.

"Frenchie? Jonesey?" Dum-Dum looked over his shoulder. " _Engarde_!"

"Friday, shut off all the cameras in the conference room!" Steve shouted before mayhem was upon him and Dum-Dum, Dernier and Gabe tackled him.

Steve tried to fend them off, but failed, as he'd failed 70 years ago since he didn't want to hurt them. He was helpless against fingers dancing along his ribcage, sides, belly and arms, tickling mercilessly. 

"I'm sorry, Captain Rogers, but Mr Stark has put an override in place unless there's an emergency."

Steve wheezed and fought against the shriek rising in his throat. He swatted at Gabe, Dernier and Dum-Dum. "This _is_ an emergency, Friday!" From his peripheral vision, he saw Monty and Jim exchange looks. That did not bode well.

"Sergeant Barnes informs me that it is not."

He was going to get James for that, he was. Bucky had always looked on, grinning, as the Commandos tickled Steve until he was a squealing puddle on the ground. He didn't want a repeat performance with James.

"Don't you dare, don’t you –" he tried to stop Jim, but it was too late. He and Monty joined the tickle attack as well and only seconds after, Steve really was on the floor, squealing high and breathless like a school-girl and trying to writhe away from five sets of tickling hands.

Dum-Dum sat back first, taking mercy on Steve. "Well I'm convinced. You can't replicate that squeal."

Steve gasped and tried to sit up. He was dead certain now it really was his old team: He'd never told anyone about being ticklish as all hell. "You ratted me out," he accused. He grinned at Dernier as he helped him up, though. "James didn't know."

Monty narrowed his eyes a little. "You keep calling him James."

"That's …" Steve gulped in a deep breath. "A long story." God, it was going to be easier to tell them about being gay and with James than telling them about the Winter Soldier and James' evolution.

"But it's Bucky?" Gabe asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Steve said, trying not to sound as cagey as he felt. He forced a smile on his face. "How have you been? And how did you come here?" He shook his head a little. That wasn't all he'd wanted to say. He exhaled against the pressure sitting on his chest since he first saw them, "God, I missed you."

Though Gabe's side-eyed look told Steve knew exactly that Gabe looked through his evasive manoeuvre, he said, "We thought you were dead, you bastard. Where were you hiding all this time?"

Damn it. Couldn't they just stick to the easy things. Like enjoying each other's presence? "That's …"

"A long story?" Jim finished for him.

"Steve, I think we deserve a few answers," Monty agreed.

Steve tried to sweep the hair from his forehead before remembering that it was too short for that now. He crossed his arms over his chest instead. "I want to tell you everything. In detail." Okay, well, maybe not in too much detail. "But I need you to be patient a little longer."

"Why?" Dum-Dum asked. "What's got you so god damn secretive? We're your friends!"

Steve closed his eyes briefly and locked his jaw. Damn it. He'd just wanted to have a happy reunion before he left on the mission tomorrow. "It's classified."

"Leave him alone, you'll make him cry," Dernier said, in English for once. He winked at Steve.

Dum-Dum switched gears quickly enough it threatened to make Steve dizzy. "Aww, you gonna cry, you big lug?"

"No!" Oh, damn, that was going to be worse than the tickling. They had never let him live down the one time they watched Bambi together. A room full of soldiers at base camp in Sicily, and they'd marketed it as a family movie. Most of the guys had groaned at that and demanded something salacious, but brass had been adamant. Steve had always enjoyed cartoon movies, and he didn't have the money to go to the cinema when the movie came out, so he was happy to get his chance in the most unlikely of places. He hadn't expected that ending, though. He'd tried to hide it, but that damn ending just had him blubbering like a little boy. Bucky had tried to hand him a handkerchief as surreptitiously as possible, but Dum-Dum had seen it and started laughing so hard he fell over and dented his Bowler.

"He is! See that Jonesey? I can see it! Captain Blubber-Boy is back."

God. If James heard about that as well as the tickling, Steve was screwed for life. James or Tony. _Anyone_ , really. He was going to have to bribe Friday somehow.

~*~

The glowing blue numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table read 5:00 when the door to their quarter opened and James finally slipped in. James had insisted on checking that the Commandos were all secure in their temporary guest quarters, despite Friday monitoring them. It seemed crazy to just go to bed after their sudden appearance, but everyone was exhausted, and there was still Fury's mission tomorrow. Maybe they were all too blasé, but soldiers zapped into the future didn't seem as threatening as alien invaders, Hydra, and Ultron.

Steve could have stayed up and watched them, since he didn't need a lot of sleep. He could go days without it, just like James, but James insisted that it helped settle the mind as well as rest the body. It hadn't been worth arguing that he could sleep in the quinjet while Clint piloted it. James might not have Bucky's memories, but he had his mother hen instincts sometimes. Steve was leaving on a mission; Steve was going to get some sleep, and James would stand guard. Likely, he wouldn't sleep at all and Steve regretted that.

James was peculiar about getting enough sleep. Maybe it was a relic from when he wasn't the one to decide when he was tired or not, but nine times out of ten, if one were searching for James Barnes, he could be found curled up somewhere, asleep. Usually with a book that had slipped from his fingers.

Steve envied him that ability.

Steve closed his eyes; he didn't want James to know that he hadn't slept yet. Too much going on in his head. If Fury hadn't insisted this op was time critical, nothing could have pried Steve away from the dilemma of his displaced former comrades. God, it had been good to see them, alive and vital, not withered by age and dementia like Peggy or tortured like James. They were all the same, the crazy brave men who had made him into Captain America just as much as Erskine had.

With his eyes closed, it was worse. His head was spinning between joy and worry. He'd been so happy when he recognized the Commandos, but that happiness was already overshadowed by the reality of what their appearance might mean. Tony's and James' explanations only made the worries worse.

It was better to concentrate on James' sounds. Socked feet on carpeted floor. He must have taken off his shoes before he entered the room. The swish of jeans-clad legs against one another. James' hair, longer than it had been two years ago when they hooked up, sliding against his shirt. He'd made noises about getting a haircut for weeks, but somehow, that never happened. Whether that was because Steve told him he liked his hair – and showed him, too – or because he didn't want to look like Bucky remained a mystery. Steve wasn't going to say anything. It was James' hair.

A quiet clink: James' metal fingers against the belt buckle. The soft sound of buttons popping open, jeans being pushed off. No other sound would follow, except for maybe the socks, depending on whether James had cold feet or not (and, God, his cold feet were a menace), as James only ever took off the shirt in bed when they had sex.

Sex was the last thing on Steve's mind right now. His old team occupied nearly every thought. Jim, Gabe, Frenchie, Monty, and Dum-Dum with his damn bowler. Seeing them alive tore open a wound he'd thought healed over for good. He'd made his peace with no longer being in the past. He was in the here and now, he had new friends, friends who knew him better than the Howlies ever did because by now they'd known him longer. That had been a startling insight that woke Steve up to his maladaptive nostalgia and how hurtful it was to everyone around him. 

Yet the wave of nostalgia from the scent of their soldier's garb mixed with cigarettes, sweat and dirt brought … that damn familiar scent had catapulted him straight back into 1944. The disconnect made him want to ram his head against the nearest wall until it stopped or he passed out. It didn't help to know that the wall would likely crumble before his head did.

The bed dipped, lightly and without a sound, as James slid under the sheet into his side of the bed. The mattress vibrated a little as James shuddered – he liked the bedroom cool, but never when he got undressed and slipped into bed. It always took him a couple of minutes to get warm. For a blissful second, Steve's thoughts slowed to a halt. James did that for him. 

Part of him wanted to reach out and pull James close and lose himself in the familiarity of his scent, his now and here scent. The scent of Steve's present and, if he didn't mess up too badly, his future. The other part of him reminded him that James didn't react well to uncommunicated attempts at holding him close. Steve didn't have it in him to carefully communicate right now, though. So instead, he just lay on his side of the bed, pretending to be asleep, feeling his body grow cold and his muscles strain toward the human contact he denied himself while the distance between him and James widened to a gulf he didn't know how to cross.

"I know you're not asleep." James sounded vaguely amused but gentle. "Your breathing's wrong."

Damn it. He hadn't mean to give himself away. Steve released a shaky breath, opened his eyes but didn't relax just yet. Dim lights filtered through the curtains from the outside lights illuminating the compound. It was quiet. As if nothing had happened.

James seemed to wait for a reply, but Steve didn't know what to say. What could he say? I want my old team back so bad it hurts but I'm afraid that I'll lose you if I engage with them? I don't know what to do? I want to run away but I can't because I wouldn't know how? I have to leave tomorrow and I'm freaked out that you will all be gone when I come back? I feel incredibly guilty because I'm going saddle you and Tony and Pepper with them while I go off and do Avengers stuff and I'm secretly relieved for that?

A rustling sound, then the sheets began to move; slowly but surely slipping from Steve's body.

James was pulling the sheets away from him.

It was such a ridiculous thing to do that a chuckle bubbled up in Steve's chest. He fought and held on to the sheets until he feared they'd tear then accused, "Blanket hog."

"Octopus."

"You're a …" He almost said punk but stopped himself before it slipped out. He wouldn't mix up James and Bucky ever again, particularly not now the Commandos were here, not even by using familiar phrases. "…Menace."

"Be glad I'm not the Phantom Menace."

Steve groaned from the bottom of his heart. "I'm never going to forgive Clint for showing you that." He rolled over toward James and pressed his forehead against James' collarbone. His scent, that blend of fresh laundry, cool winter days and warm skin was the familiar scent of _home_. He hated the nights before missions because he knew he'd have to go without this for days, sometimes weeks.

James moved against him, aligned their bodies so there was no more room between them, just skin and warmth, the gentle touch of James' lips against the top of his ear, James' arm against his side, James' hand curled around the back of his neck, stroking his hair and the side of his neck in tiny, soothing motions.

Steve drew a deep breath, filled his lungs with James' scent and held it until his chest burned, committing it to memory.

"Breathe," James murmured. His voice reverberated against Steve's forehead. 

Steve gave up on the pretence, slung his arm around James' waist and released the breath he'd been holding.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

James chuckled. "You're a needy bastard, aren't you? Besides, you're the one going on a mission."

Steve moved his hand away from where it had stroked James' back. He didn't want to be possessive and scare James away. It was one of his greatest mistakes, he knew.

James caught his hand in mid-movement. "Don't be any more of an idiot than you have to be." He placed Steve's hand back where it had been.

Sleep had almost pulled him under when he felt James' lips against his ear again, murmuring. "I'll be here if you'll be here."


	2. DAY TWO

DAY TWO

"And this is a microwave," Tony said and gestured to said object. James prayed for something. Anything. Tea. Tranquilizers. An extinction event cometary impact. Steve and he might even survive. Just not Tony and an explosives-loving Frenchman from the Second World War in the same kitchen. He'd got up early to see Steve off only to find Tony – Tony of all people! – and Dernier in the kitchen already too.

He'd assured Steve everything would be fine while the Avengers hared off on Fury's latest boondoggle. But he'd obviously been suffering a previously unnoticed traumatic brain injury. Maybe he could run away and pretend he'd forgotten everything again? He genuinely didn't remember the Howling Commandos beyond what he'd read up on. He didn't need to remember them to guess they were going to be trouble. 

God, he could still be going with Steve and Sam and Clint and Vision. He might even have a chance to shoot someone. Of course, he still might, if they annoyed him enough.

Gloomily, he acknowledged to himself that Steve would be unhappy if he shot anyone.

Maybe it would be worth it?

Falsworth was staring at the electric kettle in consternation, but the rest of the Commandos were riveted by Tony's tour of the headquarters communal kitchen. Personal quarters did have basic kitchens, but the restaurant-sized version was necessary to cook the massive amounts it took for a team meal.

"What does it do?" Dugan asked. He poked at a button and Tony slapped his hand away.

"It uses microwaves to heat food."

"Fast," Steve said from behind them. He made a face. "It makes stuff taste funny, but you get used to it."

"It does not!" Tony protested, aghast.

"So it's an oven," Gabe said.

"Yes, but microwaves don't work exactly the way convection does," Tony agreed. "You can't put anything metal in."

"What happens if you do?" Morita asked.

"It explodes," Steve told them.

Dernier's expression went from mildly interested to gleeful. James just knew that didn't bode well.

"What, the metal!?" Gabe demanded. 

Dugan was giving the microwave a look of respect.

"No, the oven."

All of the Commandos looked disappointed. Even Tony did and he knew better, but the idea of an exploding metal clearly intrigued his mad scientist side.

"Why haven't you left yet?" James asked Steve. He narrowed his eyes.

"Breakfast," Steve said. "The most important meal of the day."

Dernier poked at the touchscreen controls to the microwave, making it beep. 

"Aht, aht, no, stop that," Tony exclaimed.

Dernier pulled his hand back. 

James didn't trust that innocent look.

"You're leaving now?" Falsworth asked Steve.

Steve looked unhappy. "Yes – "

"He has to go avenge something," Tony interrupted glibly. "Someone probably let their dog poo in Fury's flowerbeds."

"Naw, it's probably those pesky teenagers sneaking in to skinny dip in his pool," Clint said as he snagged the coffee Tony had just poured for himself and kept going, ignoring Tony's squawk of protest.

"It's actually highly classified – " Steve protested.

"Oh my God, just leave," James told him. "Go. Get out of here. You hover like a freaking drone."

Tony smirked and made shooing motions. "You heard him. We've got this. Go save the world. Or at least Fury's blood pressure." He turned, found another mug and poured coffee into it.

Sam walked through, snagged the mug, said, "Thanks, Tony," and kept walking.

Dugan snickered while Tony made helpless grabbing motions. 

"I hate you all!" Tony yelled. 

Steve gave a salute and headed after Clint and Sam. Vision would be waiting already in the quinjet since he didn't eat.

~*~

"All right, all right, stop acting like a band of baboons and get in here," they heard Falsworth hectoring the rest of the Commandos before they marched into the conference room. They were dressed in a motley selection of clothes instead of their dirty uniforms, but had retained their packs and weapons.

It was disorienting for James to see those faces he'd memorized from photographs, abruptly in full color, clean and smooth-shaven, above 'normal' clothes, filled with the ever-shifting play of emotion. He wondered if it was easier or harder for Steve, since he knew them, but never expected to see them again.

"Get some coffee and take a seat," Natasha ordered, her tone brooking no dissent. 

The Commandos obeyed without protest, even Falsworth, who was technically their commanding officer.

They all accepted cups of coffee, though James caught Falsworth making a face at his. Dugan doffed his bowler and let it sit on the table before him. He smiled and winked at Wanda. A drift of red filaments haloed her for an instant and then she glared at him. Dugan's face snapped to the side as an invisible hand slapped him. His eyes widened and he brought his hand to his face and rubbed it.

James bit back a chuckle.

Tony rubbed his palms together. "Tell me exactly what happened before you showed up here," Tony ordered. "Then I can begin working on how to return you – "

"Exactly how can you do that when we have no idea how we got here?" Falsworth asked.

"Well, I'll probably have to invent an entirely new branch of science, revamp physics, mmm, insult Reed Richards and persuade Viktor Von Doom to lend a hand," Tony said brightly. "He'll probably help just to piss of Richards."

"Couldn't we just go to Doom first," James muttered. He'd be the one stuck between Richards and Tony in the lab, trying to keep the explosions verbal and not leaving a large hole in New York.

"This Richards guy is a jerk, huh?" Morita commented.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Tony agreed.

"Worse than Howard Stark?"

"You wouldn't believe me and I say that as a lifetime member of the Howard Stark Was a Jerk Club," Tony said. His smile had gone a little tight.

"Very well," Falsworth said. "Since I want to know what is going on and where we are, I will begin. Everyone else should fill in anything I miss."

"We may have questions," Natasha pointed out.

"Those can wait until they've given their report," James said.

Falsworth began and James frowned as he and the other men described the mission they'd been sent on less than a week after Steve put the Valkyrie down. It sounded like a carelessly planned mess. They hadn't had any intelligence on what Hydra was doing in the facility. No wonder it had all gone sideways.

"We should be able to check the old SSR records and confirm this part," Tony said in an aside. "Friday – "

"On it, boss," the AI interrupted.

"That's my girl, Friday."

"It was only cute the first time, Tony," Pepper complained. Like Bruce, she was attending via video conference from New York. On screen, Bruce looked like he'd just been rousted from a gutter. Pepper looked crisp and gorgeous, like she'd already had breakfast, bought the planet and was contemplating adding the moon after lunch. She'd provided a needed counter-balance to Tony since Steve and the rest had already left.

"Boss has promised that if he ever makes me a body, it will look like Rosalind Russell," Friday told them and added, "According to SSR and US Army records, the Howling Commandos took the lead in Operation: Coat of Armor. A Hydra facility was successfully destroyed by heavy US Army artillery bombardment after the Commandos took and searched it. All dates and details match."

"Yes, that ridiculous code name," Falsworth murmured.

"Could have used a coat of armor when the Army started bombing before we were even out of there," Dum-Dum added.

"Are there any details on the equipment in the base?" Tony asked.

"Not in any reports I have access to, Boss."

"Nothing in my dad's records, either."

James saw Morita wrinkle his forehead when Tony mentioned his father. They had no clue _when_ they were, had they? Or maybe they did; they weren't stupid. Morita gave a tiny nod to Jones.

"Stark lost interest in us after Cap went down," Gabe said. He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Yeah, he spent the next thirty years searching for Capsicle."

"Thirty years?" Jones echoed.

"What, you still haven't caught up?" Tony asked. He rolled his eyes. "I thought you guys would be quicker. Welcome to the future. You're in 2017. Don't faint, don't puke, don't throw a tantrum."

James' hand went to his gun as he watched them take the information in. Steve might trust them, but this was an exceptional situation, and they were soldiers. There was no way of knowing how they'd react. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Natasha and Wanda at alert as well, but the Commandos took it calmly. Too calmly. 

"I think we all read The Time Machine," Falsworth said. "Come up with a better story."

Sarcasm hadn't been on James' list of possible reactions.

Tony rolled his eyes again, clearly bored. "Friday, how did Fury get Steve to believe he was in the 21st century?"

"I believe Captain Rogers saw through SHIELD's faux period recovery room, broke through a wall, and escaped as far as Times Square."

"Does that mean I get to kick them out in Times Square?" Tony pouted. "It's not as fun since they kicked out the hookers and drug dealers. Now it's just tourists and pickpockets. Sad."

"No!" Bruce, Pepper, James and Natasha shouted. Having men from the past on the loose would be a disaster on so many levels.

Wanda stepped forward. "Let me."

"Oh, darling, I'll let you do anything …" Dugan began.

Wanda cut him off with a gesture that froze his jaw in a slack-jawed gape. His eyes bugged out a little and James couldn't help feeling sympathy. Wanda's head whammies weren't comfortable for anyone. She'd stripped Hydra's trigger words out of his brain and the only thing he'd ever experienced that hurt more had been The Chair. 

She checked back with Nat, who, despite looking uncomfortable, nodded. "It's the easiest way to show them it's all real."

Wanda performed an elegant gesture with her hands. Red filaments emanated from her fingertips and curled around the heads of the Howling Commandos like slender, evil-looking crowns. Mere seconds later, she released the spell, and the men gasped, looking gobsmacked.

"What the bleeding hell?" Falsworth muttered. "We're really in the future?"

Dernier and Dugan looked ready to puke. Only Jones and Morita seemed unfazed. The possibility had obviously already occurred to them.

Dugan clutched head and groaned. "All of the hangover, none of the fun."

"What next?" Dugan asked.

Tony shrugged. "Enjoy your vacation from the Dark Ages?"

"Stark," Natasha snapped.

"What? Did they even have fire back in Cap's day? I say we show them a good time. And by we, I really should mean me, because who else could do a better job, but I will be stuck in my lab inventing time travel," Tony declared. "It will have to be someone else. I'd nominate Thor, because he does know how to party, but he's become alarmingly respectable and boring since the whole Ragnarok thingie-o, what with running a new Asgard. Too bad Clint left. Of course, if we left it up to Clint, they'd all just end up in a dumpster or a drunk tank."

"Sounds good to me," Dum-Dum said.

Tony pointed at him. "You. I like you."

"Someone needs to be their guide to the future," Wanda said sweetly. 

Natasha smirked. Those two were spending too much time together.

James could feel the walls closing in, the jaws of the trap about to snap shut, the noose around his neck tightening, as every avenue of escape turned into a dead end. "Bruce – " he appealed in desperation.

Bruce shook his head. "That's an even worse idea than the Big Guy on a helicarrier." He grimaced at the Commandos. "You seem like pleasant people, but I have an anger disorder."

"Well, I'm out," Natasha said, "and Wanda will be busy." 

"I have all the boring business you don't want anything to do with, Tony," Pepper pointed out. "Not to mention the talks with Fujikawa about licensing our new clean-up protocols. You know that's going to be a hard sell. Also, I think you should think about relocating. Or the paparazzi may become a problem if they see them at your headquarters." She checked her slim watch and added, "I have to leave now. I'll talk to you this evening." Her image blinked out, replaced by the SI logo.

"Looks like you're in the hot seat, Jimmy Jams," Tony said. 

"Why worry so much about whether we're noticeable?" Dugan questioned.

"There are too many people, including factions of the government, who would want to discover how you travelled forward in time, or worried about what could happen as a result of you returning, or would try to use you against Steve," Natasha explained. "Not to mention Hydra or AIM or whatever the remnants of the Ten Rings are calling themselves now."

Falsworth nodded at her explanation. "I see."

"So, we all agree that we can't go around declaring to the world that you're here," James said.

"That does sound sensible," Falsworth agreed.

"Which means that you can't stay here, either." Natasha crossed her arms in front of her. "We have the press sneaking around too often and we're still being watched by god knows how many satellites since they're too scared to have actual spies come in and watch us up close."

Tony shrugged. "Friday, open up a set of rooms on the Avengers floor of the tower."

With some discomfort, James felt all eyes resting on him.

It was not a good idea, James thought, just better than leaving them at Avengers HQ. No one would look for the Howling Commandos at Stark Tower. Dressed in modern clothes, they weren't immediately recognizable. They could disappear in New York's masses and hide in plain sight if necessary. 

"It makes sense," Falsworth said. Behind him, Morita and Dugan nodded. "It's better to keep moving and not stay stationary for too long."

James could see that Natasha was about to say something cynical, but then reconsidered. He appreciated it. They didn't need Natasha and Tony going at it in front of strangers. 

"I'll get a quinjet ready," Tony declared.

"Car," Natasha interrupted.

"It would be quicker to take the jet," Wanda agreed.

"Would also draw more attention than a car," Natasha said. "We'll wait until tomorrow morning. I'll drive one, James will drive the other, Tony you'll go home first, but make sure Happy doesn't lose the paps until you're most of the way back."

"You're coming to New York," Bruce said and gulped. He looked ready to have a heart attack.

Natasha's smile was all teeth. "We can run training ops in New York, W."

Bruce's image also blinked out, replaced by a giant emoticon of dismay.

"Friday," Tony remonstrated. The emoticon disappeared, and the 3D SI logo began rotating.

"He's going to have to stop hiding eventually," James said, rolling his eyes. He'd felt betrayed when Bruce did his disappearing act and he hadn't been _involved_ with him. Bruce showing back up with Thor and Loki and the last Asgardians hadn't really improved the situation either when Thor let slip that Hulk had been perfectly happy on Sakaar. Buying an island large enough to let the Asgardians set up and finagling the UN, along with some magical help from Dr. Strange, had taken enough energy and time that there'd been none left for bitterness, though.

Bruce was living in the Tower now, however, and hadn't visited headquarters upstate… or faced Natasha.

"Okay, are we done here? I need to do SCIENCE," Tony said. His glee was alarming.

He left them and Natasha and Wanda followed, abandoning James to stare at the Commandos. They stared back. It felt surreal. These men thought they knew him, but they didn't, not who he'd become, and he didn't know them either. A stab of sadness hit him. He'd never considered that Bucky's memories were much of a loss, considering everyone in them except Steve was dead.

"Wilson said you don't remember us," Falsworth said.

"You, Steve, anyone," James told them. He turned his attention back to the Commandos. "I'm afraid that I basically only have some random memories of being Sgt. Barnes. Hydra didn't want the Winter Soldier to remember enough to question their orders, so they wiped me between missions. I've gone by James since I escaped them."

Falsworth blanched. "Hydra?"

Shit. They didn't know that they hadn't wiped out Hydra. Or that James had been the Fist of Hydra for more years than they'd been alive.

"I was their assassin," James told them. "They went underground. Steve and Natasha and Sam managed to wreck their plan to take over the world."

"You sold out to Hydra!?" Dugan yelled. Jones and Morita caught his arms before he could do more than lunge out of his seat. Falsworth looked wary. Dernier had no expression, but a hint of pity glinted in his gaze.

"They held me for years, did their best to break me, until they found a way to wipe all my memories. After that, I did what I was told," James said in a monotone. He didn't bother explaining all the times he started to remember or just question them and was wiped all over again. They didn't need to know about conditioning that made him into a mindless puppet for whoever spoke his trigger words. It was over and done and none of anyone's business, thanks to Wanda and Tony.

"Why aren't you dead?" Morita asked. "You wouldn't be here now if you'd been with them voluntarily, but if you were a captive all that time, how are you not _old_?"

"Zola."

"Kreischberg," Falsworth said. "The experiments."

"He was trying to do what Erskine did for Steve."

"It worked," Jones whispered in amazement.

"Enough I didn't die," James said bitterly.

"I knew we should have killed him," Dugan said.

James looked him. He wished they had. Without Zola, Hydra wouldn't have kept him alive.

"Did Hydra survive because we travelled in time?" Morita questioned. 

James marked him as the smartest and the one to watch, then silently scolded himself. He didn't remember them, but that didn't mean he should evaluate them as threats and targets. He caught Natasha looking at him where she'd lingered at the door and amended the thought: he shouldn't let Steve know he did that.

"No." 

Hydra survived because at the end of WWII everyone was tired of fighting and all the people who should have known better were eager to clasp 'ex'-Hydra scientists to their bosom in exchange for its technology, no matter how tainted the methods used to achieve it had been. After that, Hydra kept everyone fighting far from home, so they never looked for what was festering in the heart of their own governments. James didn't feel like explaining the Cold War and global politics, though, certainly not when even after Project Insight revealed Hydra's machinations it did nothing to improve them.

"Who is the Winter Soldier?" Dugan demanded abruptly.

"If I may, Sergeant Barnes?" Friday asked.

"Go ahead."

Friday began displaying intelligence reports, photographs, and video clips on the conference room screens. "The Winter Soldier was a ghost, a legend in the intelligence community, supposedly a product of the Soviets' Department X and the Red Room," she recited. "It was believed no one man could be responsible for the number of kills attributed to him over the period from 1956 to 2014. Those that believed in the Winter Soldier at all believed it was a title used by different agents, much like the Black Widows."

A grainy black-and-white tape from Siberia of James in The Chair played. There was no sound, but he was clearly seizing and screaming as the halo fit over his head. James looked away from the screen.

"Department X had been infiltrated by Hydra post-WWII along with most Western nations intelligence agencies thanks to Operation Paperclip. They used their access and the Winter Soldier to foment chaos and misdirect or assassinate anyone who suspected the truth."

Friday went on, calmly relaying how James had been used, brainwashed and tortured between time in a cryogenic chamber, ending with the failure of Project Insight. Video of the helicarriers firing on each other over the Potomac, the destruction of the Triskelion and Steve's fall into the water followed by James' dive held everyone's attention, patched together from camera phone pictures and video from surveillance cams, CCTV, and scanned from social media, television and newspapers. The Commandos were glued to the spectacle.

James listened and watched the Commandos' reactions. Guilt, fury, pity, worry ‒ that one was different ‒ and then sadness.

"Bloody hell," Falsworth commented when Friday finished up with James' arrival at the Tower after Project: Insight was foiled.

"There's no way to get your memories back?" Morita asked him.

James sighed. "There is, but I'd also get seventy years of torture and murder. _I_ would be wiped out, everything I've experienced since the last wipe, and with all those memories, the person who came out wouldn't be 'Bucky' as he was anyway."

Morita nodded, accepting that, and Jones sighed. Dugan and Falsworth appeared less certain but said nothing. Dernier spoke in French. " _You are still the man I knew._ "

That sounded a little too much like Steve back in the early days of his arrival. _"Je suis moi-même . _"__

__Dernier held his hands up a little. _"Oui. In the heart, the same, always."_ Then he chuckled. _"But your French is much better now. You sound like a Parisian aristocrat."__ _

__"Perhaps I could curate an introduction to current events and major historical events since 1945?" Friday suggested._ _

__James was grateful. His identity was still his hot button, and he didn't look forward to renewed confrontations about it._ _

__James groaned a little though when he realised what Friday's suggestion would entail: Music and TV and the Internet. Tony and later, Sam, wouldn't be able to resist contributing._ _

__They were about to create monsters._ _

____

~*~

Natasha sent a text around two in the afternoon. She was on the road, headed south with two Commandos. She'd insisted James could squeeze three of them into his car. But she got Dugan, along with Morita. James had been waiting to hear about that.

**I'm having an Achmed moment.**

He suppressed a grin. They had had a blast watching old sketches of "Achmed, the dead terrorist" and flinging references back and forth until Steve threatened bodily harm.

**That bad?** he texted back.

**Wait until you're in the car with the other half of that nightmare.**

James wondered at her calling them a nightmare. What did it take to push a trained Black Widow so far? Could Jones, Falsworth and Dernier be any worse? 

He liked his car. It was armored, could hit 250 mph in eight seconds, had Friday aboard, and cornered tighter than a barrel-racer.

Hours later, he understood that an explosion would have been a relief.

He hadn't considered the menace that was Gabriel Jones. Jones hummed. To the radio. To the songs and to the ads. To himself after James shut the radio off. Not that his voice wasn't nice, but he hummed constantly. Then he began singing.

"Jones," James growled eventually, "can you sing anything besides Christmas carols?"

"Hymns."

"You have something against Christmas, Barnes?" Falsworth asked.

"'Tis the season," Jones sing-songed.

_"It is also the season in which I may kill you,_ " Dernier said in French.

Jones pretended not to understand, but James knew from the files that Jones was fluent in French.

Falsworth slapped Dernier's hand away from Jones. James didn't really want them fighting in the car while he sped south to New York, but Dernier probably wouldn't have killed his team mate, just choked him out.

Dernier sat back and sulked and Falsworth declared, "We need to play a game." 

James just barely stopped himself from slamming on the brakes. Falsworth had either lost his mind or was in league with the Devil. "We absolutely don't."

_"Allons-nous bientôt arriver?"_ Dernier piped up from the back seat. It wasn't the first time.

Falsworth ignored him. "Yes, during a long car-ride, it is prudent to play a game."

In what universe? James set his jaw. Okay. He could do this. If it would stop Dernier from asking if they were there yet and Jones from singing Christmas carols, he could play a game. Though he had a feeling that he'd come to regret his decision very soon. "What were you thinking of?"

"Charades."

"We're in a car," James said.

"Yes, I did notice that."

"That means that I can't see what you're pantomiming behind me."

"Who said that _you_ were supposed to play?"

The temptation to slam on the brakes raised its head again. If only Falsworth was in the front passenger seat instead of Jones. He glanced to the side. Jones had taken his seatbelt off. James was sure Dernier had as well. Falsworth was the only one who might not have discarded his. 

"Do I look like your chauffeur?" James asked instead of trying to commit vehicular hara-kiri. 

"You _are_ driving."

"My car, my rules. Unless you want to walk, shut up or find something for me to play too." As soon as he spoke, James wanted to hit himself in the face. He could have stayed out of it and let them play silly monkeys without him. 

"Name that carol!" Jones suggested immediately.

" _NO_." It was actually a chorus in perfect harmony from Dernier, Falsworth and James.

Jones pouted.

"Simon says!" Falsworth said. He sounded a little too cheerful for James' liking.

" _Jacques a dit?_ " Dernier asked, looking at Jones.

"Yeah!" Jones answered. "Simon, Jacques, either way, we're playing."

" _Oh, mon dieu._ "

"We could always go with Twenty Questions."

"All right, that works for me," Falsworth decided in the silence that followed. "Go ahead and start, Jonesie."

Silence. Jones didn't even hum.

"You don't want to play anymore?"

"You didn't say it."

"Say what?"

"Simon says go ahead and start."

"Simon says don't be a wanker."

Jones hummed.

James tightened his hands on the steering wheel until it creaked and put his foot down on the gas. Any speeding tickets would be worth it. Natasha had been right. This was a nightmare.

 

_____________________________  
(1) I am myself.


	3. DAY THREE

DAY THREE

Dernier stood before the microwave in the Tower common kitchen, which was still spitting and smoking when James rounded the corner, tugging his sweater down. A sharp stench of burned plastic hung in the kitchen.

"It exploded," Monty said.

James rolled his eyes heavenwards. Of course, it did. Dernier was around. Of course, something exploded. He'd known this was coming since he spotted that oh so innocent look the day before. It was comforting knowing he'd been right.

James reached past Dernier and unplugged the microwave. The last sad sparks of its existence died away. Dernier opened the door and brought out a gold-rimmed cup and saucer, along with the silver spoon.

A tea bag tag dangled over the edge of the cup.

"I just wanted a cup of tea," Monty said. "And it exploded when Frenchie turned it on."

"They do that if you stick metal in them," Tony explained, having arrived while James dealt with the microwave. "As I explained to you yesterday." James was relieved Tony wasn't mentioning that modern microwaves could handle some aluminium. He could never figure out which ones and stuck with the 'no metals' rule.

Monty reached for the cup and saucer. 

Tony caught his wrist. "Don't."

"But you said that it heated water but not the cup."

"The ceramic mug that didn't have metal on it," Tony said. "And I didn't stick a spoon in there either." Not to mention that heat transferred. Clint always forgot that.

Dernier was watching and listening intently. The sparks that were no longer coming from the microwave now seemed to come from his eyes. Dernier was clearly filing the new knowledge away for further explosive use. It left James with the bizarre mental picture of flinging an exploding microwave at an enemy while Dernier grinned like a madman and clinked two spoons together.

"No self-respecting person heats water for tea in the microwave," Pepper's voice filtered in over the comms. She was up early and must have been talking to Tony when the alarm sounded. "I've told you a million times, Tony."

"She's right, you know," James added.

Tony shrugged. "It's practical."

"It's disgusting." Pepper huffed.

"You're a snob."

James gave Tony a warning look. He wouldn't want to 

Pepper's voice sounded light and too sweet and charming. "Do you want to have sex again in this century?"

Monty coughed. Dernier grinned. James winced. And Tony … Tony straightened up a little.

"You're a lovely snob with impeccable taste?"

Pepper snorted. "Try again. Later. When we don't have an audience." 

James imagined her in a silk robe, like a queen. It was a picture that stubbornly remained, even after he'd seen her come running out of her and Tony's rooms in an emergency once, wearing comfortable yoga pants and a washed-out college shirt. He knew she had the robe; he'd been there when Tony picked it out, citing that the pale green contrasted with Pepper's hair perfectly.

"James, do me a favour and get Major Falsworth some of the good tea? I'll come down and have a cup with you."

"I've already given him the good tea yesterday," James muttered mulishly. He gave Monty a dirty look.

"Well, we'll have to find something he does like then," Pepper said.

"So very sorry about the machine," Monty said. "I really just wanted a cup of tea."

"We're getting there," James said. "Though the tea really would be a job for Bruce."

Tony slapped a hand on James' back. "Let me handle it. Maybe it'll get me out of the doghouse with Pepper. Besides, Bruce is still hiding from Nat." He cast a glance at the remains of the microwave. "We can replace that ruin later." His gaze drifted to Dernier and turned suspicious.

Falsworth looked worried. "Can you replace it? I am sorry – "

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "It's a microwave. I spend more on parking tickets every week. Besides, maybe James and I'll just retreat to the workshop and build a better one or add some extra features later."

" _Can I come?_ " Dernier asked.

James grabbed Dernier before he could mess with the dead microwave. "Later, Monsieur Disaster."

~*~

Steve, Clint, and Sam were jammed close so all of them could see their laptop screen and its camera showed them on one of the conference room's large screens. They'd arrived at their mission location but were in a holding pattern until the second target showed up. Visions was on overwatch. Facetiming with the home team using Tony's secure comm links was a perk even Steve would take advantage of in the circumstances.

"So, you're making sure none of them are hooking up with any little Commando descendants, right?" Clint teased.

"No, Marty McFly, because paradoxes happen if you go into your and their pasts, not ' _back to the future_ '," Tony snarled. "Try not to use movies to research science, unless you think _Robin Hood_ showed archery accurately."

"Oh, ouch, I'm out," Clint responded.

"Besides, I'm infinitely cooler than Doc Brown." Tony made a sweeping gesture. "In this future, they're all dead." 

Steve winced on screen. Sam patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Nothing can go wrong."

Next to Steve, Clint winced too. "You just jinxed it, man."

"Oh, come on, Legolas, don't tell me you're superstitious?"

Clint snorted. "How long have you known me?"

"Right," Tony drawled and rolled his eyes. "Look, we're keeping them. I'll work on returning them, but until I know sending them back won't result in a worse disturbance to the time line, it's not happening."

Steve opened and closed his mouth twice. James could see he was torn between wanting to believe Tony and his conviction disaster lurked around every corner and he was responsible for _everything ever_.

"James?" he asked finally.

"It's fine, Steve, leave it to Tony."

"Thank you," Tony said.

Steve heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay. It's not like I could do anything even if I was there."

James knew he was still convinced having the Commandos here and now could only result in disaster. He talked about it with James before he left. 

" _Time doesn't abide being played with."_

Steve had said it was different for him. He'd been frozen for those seventy years. Off and on, so had James, but they had existed continuously. The Commandos had jumped through time. What Steve understood of time travel insisted that would result in disaster. Most of all he worried that changing the past might mean James would suffer even more than he had.

But James knew it didn't work that way. Any changes were already history. They wouldn't ever be aware of any changes. Couldn't tell, couldn't know. In the end, it didn't matter. They had to live with what they had.

Some things couldn't be fixed because they weren't broken, even if you didn't like them.

He smiled at Steve. Try telling him that. Steve still wanted to fix the world.

"Listen, I've got to get back to them," he said. "Nat and Wanda are leaving soon, so I'm on duty."

"I miss you."

"Awwww," Sam and Clint cooed in unison. "He's so cute."

Steve flushed.

James took pity on him. "I miss you too, Steve."

"Go entertain the old men," Clint teased.

"I don't do entertainment."

"You do knife throwing contests with Nat in the kitchen." Clint pointed at him through the screen.

"That's necessary."

"It's necessary to throw knives at one another?" Sam asked with arched brows.

"She samples without asking."

"You're right," Sam declared. "She does. I always just make an extra portion for her."

"Suck up," Clint told him.

"Like you wear the pants in that relationship."

"Only because I rock a sarong."

James cringed at the thought. He knew this meant that sooner or later, Sam would goad Clint into showing up in a sarong.

"You can always throw bombs at Dernier," Steve told him as Clint and Sam wandered away from the camera, busy bickering. "Though he'll probably love it."

"I thought you'd banned explosives?"

"I know my old team."

James chuckled and signed off. He was beginning to wish he knew them. It seemed like they would have been good memories.

He glanced over at Tony and laughed. Tony was asleep in his chair, head on the table, face smooshed against his tablet. Considering he had been awake since the Commandos appeared, he deserved the rest.

"Friday?"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Let me know if he doesn't wake up in half an hour and I'll draft one of the idiots to help me carry him up to his bed."

"I will do that. Miss Potts will appreciate it."

"She'd probably appreciate it if I stuck him in a shower as well, but I have my limits," James said before quietly leaving the room and closing the door.


	4. DAY FOUR

DAY FOUR

"The water doesn't taste right from that contraption," Falsworth insisted as he drank the tea he'd made with the water from the electric kettle. Waste not, want not was a way of life even before the war.

Morita had obtained a physical paper newspaper – no doubt through Friday's auspices – and was reading and rattling it, outraged noises escaping him like steam from a kettle.

Which reminded James... "There is a tea kettle in the right cupboard, Major. Next time, you can heat the water on the stove instead."

Falsworth looked startled by being addressed by his rank and doubtful about the water.

Pepper walked into the kitchen with a smile, already dressed for her day of outthinking and intimidating world leaders and businessmen. Her ankle breaking heels emphasized her height and her make-up, like her smooth chignon, was flawless.

"James," she greeted him and kissed his cheek delicately. "Krav maga tomorrow?"

"I hope so, but – " He gestured to the Commandos. He trained with Pepper once a week, so she wouldn't need to rely solely on Extremis in an attack. Mostly, they just enjoyed each other's company away from Steve and Tony's no longer hostile but perpetual friction. 

James wished it wasn't so, because he got along with Tony easily, even after decrypting some of Hydra's files had uncovered a surveillance recording of the Winter Soldier killing Howard and Maria Stark. By then James and Tony had been friends and Tony had discovered Howard's questionable part in bringing Zola into SHIELD and redeveloping a super soldier serum against Peggy Carter's orders.

Tony blamed Hydra for the assassination and Howard for having Maria in the car with the serum and without any sort of security. It was as irresponsible as if the cover story that Howard had been driving drunk were true. Howard should have known better. James knew that really translated to Howard should have _cared_ more, but he'd learned not to just say things like that.

Tony had been angry with Steve for figuring it all out and taking it to James first; James had been the one to tell Tony.

"Where's Wakanda?" Morita asked from behind his wall of newsprint.

"Central Africa," James replied.

"This says it's the poorest nation in Africa, but this King of theirs is going to speak at the United Nations."

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe everything you read, Jimmy Mo," Tony told him casually. He'd followed Pepper in and headed straight for the coffee pot.

James smiled to himself. He might not know anything about Wakanda, but he guessed that any country that had successfully resisted European colonization and guarded its borders as zealously as Wakanda did had more going for it than 'Africa's poorest nation'. He recognized a clever legend when he saw it. Wakanda had fostered its image so successfully that it didn't even have embassies from any other countries. Just offices run by contracted Wakandans, while the Ambassadors to multiple small, 'unimportant' countries lived in the capitols of other nations.

The best way to keep people out was to make sure they didn't want to come in. Even Hydra had been uninterested in Wakanda.

"Let me know if you have to reschedule," Pepper said. 

"Friday will know."

"I'll keep you updated, Ms. Potts," the AI promised.

"How many times has Steve called?" Tony asked.

James groaned. "You don't want to know." After the sixth call this morning, he'd set the phone to ignore and instructed Friday to only let an actual emergency communique through.

"You wouldn't care to show us around the city since Steve's busy, would you?" Dugan asked Pepper. "Nothing like strolling with a dream dame on your arm ‒ "

"Hey!" Tony protested. "Not that Pep isn't a dream, but she's committed ‒ "

"You mean she should be committed for being in a relationship with you," Natasha interrupted. 

Everyone jumped; no one had known she was there. Well, James had known, he always knew, but he found it hilarious when Tony squawked. The only thing better would have been if Bruce had been there too.

James had thought she and Wanda were off on their training op. He hoped she wasn't training Wanda on them. Someone would end up hurt. He thought Natasha had more sense than that, though. Maybe she'd relocated the training to New York to be in place to back him and Tony up if necessary. It would be like her to do that and not mention it. 

Dugan had leaned close enough to Pepper to whisper something James did not want to hear. The resounding smack of Pepper's hand to Dugan's face that followed drew everyone's attention.

"Again, Dum-Dum?" Morita asked.

Dugan had his hand to his jaw, wiggling it cautiously. He looked a bit cross-eyed. "She hits like Babe Ruth!" He sounded delighted by that. 

"Be glad you don't know what else she can do. You don't want to annoy her, trust me." The proud gleam in Tony's eyes was a stark contrast to his warning.

Pepper rolled her eyes and ignored him. "I'm engaged."

"You could do better."

"She could," Natasha agreed as Tony squawked again, "but 'better' would entail improving her choices, not making a disastrous one."

"Awww, I ain't that bad!" Dugan protested.

"Yes, you are," the rest of the Commandos chorused.

"At least I'm not a 'disaster'," Tony muttered.

"Not a complete one," Pepper agreed before kissing him hard enough to smear her lipstick onto his lips. 

The microwave beeped then screeched, rattled, sparked and went dead with a sharp bang. Dernier was suspiciously next to it at the counter. James eyed him before opening it and pulling out the spoon that had 'somehow' found its way inside.

"Aw, crap," Tony said.

Pepper sighed. "How many have you blown up?"

"But I was making them better!"

She just looked at Tony.

"Fine, I'll get it fixed by tomorrow."

James did not like the light of challenge glinting in Dernier's eyes, despite his butter-wouldn't-melt expression. He might not remember these guys, but he knew their types. He lived with the Avengers after all and had gone to school at MIT. The lure of the explosion was strong in them all. Tony fixing the microwave was just challenge, a red flag to the bull.

Pepper turned to James. "I'll have someone courier over credit cards for them as soon as Natasha gets me their IDs."

"Stick with their names, different middle ones or first with the real one as middle," James told Natasha. "Give them backgrounds with some relation to their real identities. Great grand nephews, cousins, named after their famous relation. That'll cover anyone who recognizes them."

She gave him the flat, dead-eyed look she usually reserved for Tony or Clint. "Я́йца ку́рицу не у́чат."

"What'd she say?" Dugan demanded.

"Basically, don't teach your granny to suck eggs," James admitted. He deserved it, telling the Black Widow how to craft a good legend and papers.

The Commandos and Tony laughed at him. Jones began whistling another Christmas carol. Everyone relaxed and smiled. Dugan even crooned the words.

James glared at the ruined microwave before pulling out a heavy frying pan. It looked like he was cooking if he wanted breakfast.

"Everyone better shut up if you want to eat," he told them all. And he'd be drinking coffee, because he didn't want to put up with Falsworth's pretentious tea snobbery.


	5. DAY FIVE

DAY FIVE

Unimpressed, James stared at the new microwave. The new microwave which had been delivered to the kitchen by noon the day before. The new microwave that now sat, charred inside, its cord half melted. He plucked a rubber spatula from a canister and used it to nudge the plug from the outlet. After which, he hooked the handle into the door and pulled it open, academically curious to see what had destroyed this one.

A grapefruit-sized ball of crushed tinfoil with some sort of blackened grease and a melted lump of plastic that might have been a mini-remote on it occupied the interior.

He gave Dernier an unimpressed look. "Try to make it look like something someone would actually put in the microwave next time," James told him. "Like food."

Dernier shrugged at him. " _Tony will fix it_ ," he said.

" _Tony has more important things to work on,_ " James reminded him.

He didn't bother getting the foil out. The whole microwave would be headed for the garbage.

"Perhaps we could go out for some time today?" Falsworth suggested as he arrived in the kitchen. "Now that we have proper papers."

"People call them IDs now," James told him absently. He began gathering the ingredients for pancake batter.

Falsworth went to the cabinet that held the kettle. He examined it sceptically before filling it at the tap and putting it on the stove. Dernier rolled his eyes as Falsworth went through the steps to making a pot of tea with the care of man disarming a nuke. James observed sceptically. Falsworth was certainly making a performance of it. 

"We'll go out later," James promised. He knew Steve wanted to keep them sequestered, but he didn't see any point to it himself. If Steve wanted to lock them away in the tower, he could come play guard dog himself. They were men who were used to doing something, the constant stress of war, and regular jolts of adrenaline. Confined to the Tower, at loose ends, they would go stir crazy faster than Thor could eat an entire pizza.

Jones began humming another goddamn Christmas song. It wasn't something he would have heard in the past, so how the hell had he already picked it up? Friday. That enabler, it had to be Friday. 

James didn't eye the ceiling, because Friday in fact had cameras at many levels in every room. They were necessary to modelling 3D holographs. Tony knew because he'd designed everything, James presumed Pepper knew, but the rest of the Avengers still talked to the AI like she was Ceiling Cat. James could have informed them but watching them roll their eyes upward was always entertaining. He often wished for a focus point he could glare at when Friday pissed him off, though.

He and Friday would be having words though, if James found out she was behind this Christmas song assault. He knew where her sensors were installed and he wasn't above using spray paint and bubble gum.

It was probably Sam, though. Sam was the guy who thought he had to curate everyone's musical experience. He might have provided Jones with access to modern Christmas music.

With a sigh, James set the frying pan on the burner again.

Dugan grinned. "Jimmy Boy! You're cooking again? Aw, you're gonna make Cap such a dandy wife."

There were so many ways to kill someone with a frying pan. He added butter and decided he would just beat Dugan's head in with it. The Arm would make it easy. The pan was heavy, but the Arm never got tired.

Steve would be upset, though.

"We'll go out for lunch," James promised. Maybe he'd drop Dugan into a sewer and 'lose' him.

Worse, Steve would be _disappointed._

No losing Dugan.

James poured batter into the pan. He should have used the griddle. He could have saved so much time.

Morita made more outraged noises while reading the daily tabloids. James didn't really mind that. They were outrageous. Morita spluttered, "How can this clown be president? This is unacceptable. We weren't fighting for some bilious robber baron to use the White House to line his damn pockets!"

"I didn't vote for him," James said. He didn't vote at all, since he wouldn't obtain a faked voting registration and his own identity would be rather problematical. Pepper had offered to put SI's lawyers on it, but he preferred to keep his profile low. Clint had offered to get him a fake good enough to go on the rolls, but James hadn't even had a chance to decline before Steve threw a fit about voter fraud.

"Well, someone did!"

"Oh, let me tell you about the electoral college," Tony exclaimed as he wandered in. His gaze landed on the microwave and his eyes widened. James shook his head at him.

"Please don't," Bruce said as he followed Tony into the kitchen. He headed straight for the electric kettle. James suspected that he and Tony had been up all night in the labs. Bruce had that extra rumpled look and bags under his eyes.

"How can you drink that swill?" Falsworth asked as Bruce began preparing one of his herbal teas.

"I've made tea from water dipped out of the Ganges," Bruce replied, unruffled.

Falsworth took a sip of his own tea and made a face.

"Did you hulk out?" Tony asked.

"What?" Bruce gave Tony an unimpressed look.

"What? That's what happens when something happens that should kill you, right?" Tony took a plate and several pancakes. So did Dernier and Falsworth, then Morita. The platter James had just filled was empty when he walked back to the table. 

James sighed and started a second batch of pancakes, anticipating the arrival of the rest of the Commandos.

"This tea is terrible," Falsworth declared.

"We can get some different tea – " Tony started.

"Don't drink it," James told Falsworth sharply. His patience was wearing very thin.

"What?" Falsworth jerked the tea cup away from his lips and looked alarmed. The tea sloshed over onto his hand and he hissed in pain. He tried to shake the hot liquid off, lost the tea cup and the fine porcelain hit the granite counter with a chiming crack and shattered.

"Christ, Monty, I know you're like some snobby aristocrat with money out your ass, but it ain't manners to go around busting your host's good china," Dugan declared from the doorway.

Falsworth kept cursing and got his hand under the cold tap at the sink.

"He said don't drink it, not fling it at the floor," Morita added.

Falsworth added Morita to the list of things he was cursing.

James groaned under his breath before setting to cleaning up the mess.

Jones whistled and said, "Even backwoods hillbillies know you don't insult your host. If you didn't like the tea, you should have just poured into a plant or something when no one was looking," but he knelt to pick up pieces of the teacup while he spoke.

"I'm afraid I'm always looking," Friday piped up. "It's my job."

Falsworth glared at Jones. He'd gone red-faced, either with anger or embarrassment.

The smell of burning pancake filled the kitchen. James lunged toward the stove and jerked the hot pan off the flame. Like an idiot, he used his flesh hand and the burn nearly made him howl. He was too late to avoid triggering the smoke alarm anyway, which began wailing.

"What the hell is that!" Falsworth yelled. 

Dugan and Dernier were arming themselves with kitchen knives. "Are we under attack?" Morita asked.

"No!" James shouted. He shoved Falsworth over and stuck his hand under the running cold water.

"Friday, shut off the smoke alarm," Tony ordered.

"Sorry, boss, no can do. The smoke alarms are isolated from the building systems. New York building code," Friday replied cheerfully.

James suspected Friday enjoyed human chaos a little too much. Maybe it was Tony's influence, but the AI was a tiny bit of a shit-stirrer.

"Then show me where the damned thing is so I can pull the stupid batteries – " Tony started.

James had had enough of that bone-vibrating shriek, though. He plucked a paring knife from the knife block with his metal hand and flung it. It pierced the smoke detector and sunk in to the hilt. The detector squeaked and went silent. Then a piece of plastic dropped to the floor.

Bruce had left the kitchen. James considered doing the same.

"Fuck this," he said. "We're going out for breakfast."

Tony glanced around the kitchen, took in the Commandos, and then rolled his eyes for James' benefit. "You do that, Reddy Bear. I'll be in my lab."

"Ten minutes, at the elevator," James ordered the Commandos. 

At least by that time his hand would have healed up.

~*~

Falsworth ordered coffee at the restaurant. Jones smiled and bopped his head to the Christmas carols playing over the sound system and Morita and Dugan were pictures of proper behaviour. Dernier seemed cowed by James glare for the moment.

James should have known it was too good to last. Last it did, though, through the afternoon, through lunch at the 'big as your head' burger place. Dugan proved you didn't have to be a super soldier to have a super soldier's appetite by downing two burgers, three baskets of fries, one of onion rings, a giant strawberry and a giant chocolate milkshake and the extra extra big blondie double-brownie dessert. The good behaviour even lasted through a combination tourist ramble and a shopping trip using the credit cards.

James knew Pepper was going to regret that. He knew he would.

Jones had a new iPod he chose to keep with him rather than send it to the tower. That was going to make Tony have a fit. He would have happily kitted Jones up with a Stark Player with enough memory to hold all the music ever. James just hoped that access to something other than the omnipresent damn Christmas music would influence him to stop singing carols.

He was frankly sick of the things half way through November anyway.

James took them to the custom boot maker that did his and Steve and all the Avengers' various combat boots from materials supplied by Tony: special soles that were silent on any surface, impervious to everything from venom to acid, adamantium toes and shanks, hidden slots for tech toys and knife sheaths, shock absorbers that made dropping several stories to a crouch a hell of lot easier on the ankles, knees, hips and back. Each of them got new combat boots that only _looked_ like WWII issue, black paratrooper boots, and measured for a set of the handmade Avengers beauties. Here, James got out the black Amex without wincing. Good boots were worth it.

"Damn," Jones commented on the way out. "I didn't know boots could be that comfortable."

"Good footwear is always a sound investment," Falsworth agreed. "Have a care and it will last for a decade."

"Take care of your feet," Dugan agreed. "You can't fight if you can't walk."

"Then why do your socks always smell like something died?" Morita asked.

"Come on," James interrupted before they could get into it on the sidewalk. "We're buying socks next." Steve might have a bug up his ass about messing up the time line, but if they were going back, they were going back with good gear. Good socks that would keep their feet warm and dry wouldn't wreck their future/his present.

It reminded him of the only thing Hydra ever did right. One of their scientists had come up with an antifungal treatment for socks and underwear and other gear that got sweaty or wet. It had been a necessity when they would leave the Asset in his tac gear for days, even weeks, only stripping him down and hosing him off before putting back in cryo. He might mention it to Tony. He still had some of his Hydra gear. Tony could reverse engineer the treatment, improve it and then make another fortune for SI with it.

Making money off their work, stealing from them for once, would serve Hydra right. He knew Tony would be all for the plan.

A shriek, yells and curses and someone running, plowing, through the sidewalk crowd, distracted James from the pleasant thought of shafting Hydra.

He took in what was happening immediately. "Purse snatcher."

One step forward, a smooth shift as he brought his arm up, and James clotheslined the man perfectly. He used his flesh arm, so it didn't break the hyoid bone and leaving the guy choking to death.

Dugan plucked the purse up and administered a kick to the man's gut at the same time. "That ain't polite."

Morita snatched the guy to his feet, wound up and punched him. The guy yelled and clapped his handed to his nose, now broken and pouring blood. 

"Oh, Jesus," James muttered. "Christ." This was his fault for getting involved, but they really didn't need the attention that would come with explaining events to the police. "Falsworth, Jones, we're getting out of here now." He clamped his hand around Morita's arm and frog-marched him away. "Where's Dernier and Dugan - ?"

" _Here_ ," Dernier said. He searched the purse snatcher's pockets for other stolen items before joining James as he rushed the rest of them down the sidewalk.

"Returning the lady's purse, I believe," Falsworth answered and pointed.

James spotted Dugan just in time to see the woman, now clutching her purse to her chest with one hand, wind up and slap Dugan.

Dernier exclaimed, " _Again, Dum-Dum?_ "

Fuck the socks. These dumb asses deserved foot rot. And when they got back, James was making Dugan watch all forty-seven of the SI Human Resources How to Not Be a Sexual Harasser PSAs. If he made it through those without bleeding out the ears, James might let the rest of them see the ones Steve had done for SHIELD after he'd lost a bet with Nat. Because that was comedy gold and Steve deserved all the embarrassment for not being here.

James turned on his phone and said, "Friday, get the car to meet us at the end of the block."

"On the way, Sgt. Barnes," Friday said.

"All right, move it, now," James ordered, "or I'll kick all your asses."

It was barely four in the afternoon and he was more exhausted than if he'd been on a two-week mission in the Congo.

~*~

Pepper appreciated the quiet penthouse. Her long day was ended. She was in her bed, free of her haute couture armor, her itchy pantyhose, her bra and, most of all, free of her damned high heels. Bliss.

It was a ritual each evening: Get in the door, kick off the shoes as far away as possible and not care about their price or the state of them after. She'd learned the hard way that if she took them off even for a few minutes during the day, she'd end up with bloody blisters in the evening, so she gritted her teeth and endured the pain, but as soon as she got in the door, all bets were off. Elegant Miss Potts gave way to Casual Pepper behind closed doors.

Evenings with Tony in his workshop were all hers: A nice hot bath, maybe a book if she didn't fall asleep while reading and the most comfortable clothes she could find. She might have stolen some of James' shirts because he picked softer ones than anyone in the tower. She liked the way they were oversized on her. Of course, she could buy comfortable loungewear, but the comfort of those well-used and washed-soft clothes couldn't be matched.

She'd grown used to Tony spending most of the night in his lab. She only insisted he join her for dinner or a movie when she really was lonely. Most of the time, she wasn't all that sorry when he came to bed after her. Tony started snoring sometime during the night and no amount of poking or prodding could make him stop either, so she appreciated getting several hours sleep before he came to bed. Not that prodding or poking him was a good idea. Tony didn't wake up gently. She'd insisted on therapy before she moved back in and he'd complied for two months after she'd moved out, but it only helped so much.

Pepper had just drifted off when the bed dipped under the arrival of another body. She had to hang on like a ship close to capsizing in a storm. She really didn't like the waterbed Tony insisted on.

"Tony, damn it, I was asleep!" she protested groggily. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Oh, sorry, babe."

"How many more times do I have to tell you not to jump on the bed when I'm in it?"

"You used to like me jumping you."

"Context, Tony Stark. Not, I repeat, not when I'm already asleep." She glared at him. "How many beds have we destroyed from you startling me before I could control Extremis? I hate having the fire department come. Do you know how many donations I've made to NYFD in the last year?! And I hate doing selfies in my pyjamas."

"You're really mad, aren't you?"

Tony said it in such a small voice Pepper had a hard time holding onto her anger. He hadn't meant to startle her so badly after all. It was just Tony. And the waterbed had saved them from a burnt bedroom at least once while she was learning not to light up while dreaming.

"What gave it away?"

"I love it when you turn on the sarcasm, you know that?"

Pepper considered a comeback but decided against it, instead she crossed her arms in front of her and waited Tony out. It could be worse after all. He wasn't manic or drunk tonight. He was trying and she noticed his improvement. And when she was having a bad day, he was always there with her favourite take-out, a glass of wine or a cup of hot chocolate, a foot rub and the offer to just listen as she vented. He didn't wake her anymore since his return. If he'd come to her and interrupted her sleep, something was bothering him. Of course, being Tony Stark, he always needed a dramatic approach to a simple conversation.

She poked his shoulder with her toe. "Talk."

Tony turned to his belly and hid his face in the crook of his arm. "Can't you just read my mind?"

"Still not how this works." That was another thing the counsellor was working on with him: Direct communication.

"You're a cruel mistress."

"Which is exactly why you love me. So talk."

Tony huffed a theatrical sigh, then propped his head on his hands. His gaze followed the tapping of her foot against the bed. "You're making me sea-sick."

"This from the man who just jumped on a water bed." She gave the mattress even more of a movement by gently bobbing up and down.

Tony caught her ankle, pulled her foot toward him and pressed a kiss to her arch.

"Do you think Steve's drawing out this mission so that he doesn't have to deal with the literal Old Boys before I figure out how to send them back?" Tony asked.

Pepper frowned, about to say Steve wouldn't do that but then again, he might do it unconsciously. But even if he was, she didn't see what she or Tony could do about it. Maybe James could get through to him. But that would mean meddling between two friends and that wasn't something she wanted to do. Nor was it something Tony was equipped to do.

She wriggled her toes. "I think we should stay out of it."

"That's your advice."

"That's my advice."

"That's no fun."

"Give me a foot rub and I'll show you fun."

"Your wish is my command, Pepperlicious." Tony's fingers, which could hold a hammer and forge armor and deftly draw lines of gold on a circuit board pressed into the perfect spot under arch. Pepper decided she didn't mind being woken so much after all.


	6. DAY SIX

DAY SIX

Gabe bought the iPod because it wasn't Stark's work. He'd bet his left nut that nothing made by Stark Industries was immune to Stark's machine mind. The way that thing could pull up information was something the others hadn't really grasped. Information was power, more power than a bullet in a gun: it took information to make a gun, to manufacture ammunition. It took a finger to pull a trigger, a mind to tell it to, and the decision was based on what that mind knew. Lack of intel had screwed the grunts on the ground over more than the enemy. Friday was somewhere between fascinating and terrifying, especially when he figured out that the purple guy was occupied (or made for/by?) another machine brain. 

Besides, he just wanted to yank the man's chain. Operation: Arsehole was going over like gangbusters, but mostly they were getting to Barnes. Poking at Tony Stark was the next easiest target.

Well, that, and he did love music. Damn, there was a lot of music in the future. It was everywhere, all the time, so much so he felt like the people didn't even hear it unless it cut out.

Even he was near about to drive himself crazy with the Christmas Carols, though, right along with Barnes.

Jim was going to owe him if Barnes lost his shit and strangled Gabe, though. Gabe had a good idea how far he could push Bucky Barnes, but James Barnes was someone different behind that familiar face. The sniper eyes never turned off. Gabe could feel the crosshairs on him whenever Barnes looked at him. Hell, he said he'd killed for Hydra for decades.

Hydra. The Sarge had hated Hydra hotter than Cap did. The decades thing was hard to get his mind around too.

Gabe was currently unimpressed with Steve, though in a way he got it: Steve and Bucky had been dead to the Commandos for a few weeks and already were softly burnished with the glow of memory erasing all the annoying shit. For Steve, it had been years of them being lost to him, being dead. Gabe could see how that was damn hard to face. But even though he'd been happy to see them, Steve had also been weird. Of course, he'd been trying to hide that it was the future…

It was nice to see that nothing had made Steve any better of a liar.

James didn't remember them at all but was decent. He still understood about boots and socks and had gritted his teeth through their Operation: Arsehole antics with surprising patience. If Gabe had just met him, he'd have liked him.

Tony was still an enigma.

Tony Stark. Damn. Howard used to go through women like whiskey. Wonder who married him and gave him a kid? Well, maybe this visit to his laboratory would provide some insight.

He sang _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ under his breath without even meaning to do it and only noticed when Jim began grinding his teeth as he followed the rest of the boys into Tony Stark's laboratory.

Tony's laboratory was different from what his old man had put together in England, but Gabe could see the similarities: a dozen different projects spread around the space, random pieces of tech, and coffee cups everywhere.

He might not understand the science of half the stuff in the future, but it worked and Gabe had no trouble grasping how to operate it. 

Tony showed them around with an almost endearing pride mixed with arrogance and insecurity in equal portions. He wanted them to be impressed, he knew it was impressive, but the guy clearly had been manipulated and mocked enough times to be gunshy.

Gabe didn't feel exactly sorry for him, though, because the guy had a dame like Pepper Potts engaged to him.

Jim hit the right note anyway, though, whistling and muttering, "Damn, I guess we know why you're the go-to guy for fixing whatever Hydra did that ended up with us here."

Tony practically preened.

Gabe paid attention as Tony explained what various machines did. He even managed not to squeak when one of the robots came over and offered him a can of something called Monster, instead taking it.

Tony's eyes widened. "Where did that come from? DUM-E!"

"What is it?"

"A wonderful, wonderful drink," Tony said hurriedly. "That I did not have in the lab fridge. Nope. Take it. It's all yours."

Gabe shrugged and stuffed the can in his jacket pocket. He'd try it later.

Tony ushered them away, pausing only to hiss imprecations at the robot.

Unfortunately, while Tony had been distracted by DUM-E and the mysterious can of Monster, Dernier had wandered off on his own. Jim was following Tony, while Monty and Dum-Dum were playing with the holographic display, apparently trying to make an Iron Man suit for an Amazon.

Gabe started looking for Jacques, because when Jacques got separated from the rest of them, things happened. Things that you wanted to happen to the enemy, not the nice people putting you up in the futuristic, luxurious tower. Explosive things. Honestly, that was probably why the French Resistance hadn't protested Dernier being conscripted/recruited into the Howling Commandos squad; they were tired of him exploding things in the basements of their safe houses.

Howard's kid didn't know to worry about Frenchie yet. Despite the microwave going bang every morning.

"No, no, no!" Tony exclaimed as he approached Monty, Dum-Dum and the blue light diagram hovering in the air. "Boob armor is crap. The bikini look is great on the beach and Natasha can probably kill people with her cleavage, but from an engineering perspective it's a big no-no. It's inherently weaker than a single curve and will channel the force of most blows straight to the sternum. You can have chest protection and you can have sexy and you can even have sexy chest protection, but you cannot have the boob look!"

"You sure?" Dum-Dum looked disappointed.

"I may have done some research while trying to design a protective suit for Pepper," Tony admitted. "As it turns out, the sort of pouter pigeon look that knights in armor had is pretty superior to just about anything else. Made out of good steel, it can even deflect lighter ammo, which is a shocker, I know, because you think of the introduction of guns as the end of the days of plate armor, but really it was just the cost and time it took to create. It was always something only a rich man could afford."

"Like you, boss?" Friday asked.

"Yes and no," Tony admitted. "Money does help, but I built my first suit in a cave in Afghanistan, with an electromagnet strapped to my chest, hooked up to a car battery, to keep me alive."

"That sounds like a story I'd like to hear," Monty said. 

Gabe agreed.

"Not one I enjoy telling," Tony said.

"Boss – " Friday started.

"What - ?"

" – I believe Mr. Dernier is about to activate the experimental repulse grenade – "

"I pulled the power source on that – "

" – Mr. Dernier appears to have paired it with the palladium battery pa – "

"DOWN!" Tony shouted.

Gabe, Jim, Monty and Dum-Dum dived for cover. 

"Throw it the other way!" Tony shouted at Dernier.

Dernier slung the grenade – grenade? It looked like a can of soup to Gabe, with a Zippo lighter connected to it by a wire – away from the work area toward the far wall. Heavy steel shutters dropped between them and the other end of the lab with a clang that barely registered before a huge BOOM! shook the floor and maybe the entire tower. Dust showered down from the ceiling, any number of a things jumped and fell to the floor to break, and the steel shutters deformed with metallic shrieks that could be heard even though Gabe thought he'd gone deaf otherwise. One of them even tore loose and slammed in the nearest wall.

"Frenchie!" Gabe yelled. 

Alarms wailed as filthy black smoke rolled into the lab through the broken shutter.

"Please evacuate to the left doorway," Friday's calm voice sounded. "Fire control will commence in one minute thirty-eight seconds."

"Come on," Tony yelled, pushing and dragging at Monty and Dum-Dum. Futilely, in Dum-Dum's case, but then Jim reached up and pinched Dum-Dum's nose. Dum-Dum took off after him with a yell and Jim headed for the exit.

"Frenchie!" Gabe shouted again. "Dernier! God damn it – "

Dernier stumbled out of the smoke looking equally chastened by the near miss and crazed with adrenaline. He was weaving and staggering so Gabe snagged his arm over his shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried him out. Tony was last out, following them and doing a head count once they were in the corridor outside the lab.

The doors slammed shut and through the glass wall, Gabe saw white dust fill the room. Some kind of fire retardant, he guessed, that would smother any sparks. It would probably smother anyone in there too.

Tony stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring into the lab, scowling. "What the hell is it with you relics anyway? People keep blowing up my safe space! It's not right."

He spun and pointed his finger at Dernier. "'YOU!"

" _Moi_

" _TU!_ "

The elevator opened and spilled out firefighters, security people, and Pepper Potts, who looked at Tony. "What happened?" she asked tiredly.

Tony pointed at Dernier. "Him. Them. That one – 'Dernier, ' – is barred from my lab, ALL of my labs, anywhere, in fact, ALL LABS ANYWHERE, whether they're mine or not, for life. His life! Which will be tragically over if I _ever_ see him in here again!"

"I think we'd better get back to our quarters," Monty said.

Tony clutched at his hair and cursed. "The Capsicle owes me so much for this," he declared. "Like, a winged unicorn pony with rainbow poop and at least three Sports Illustrated swim suit cover models – "

"Really, Tony?" Gabe heard Pepper saying as he hustled Jacques into the elevator with the rest of the commandos.

Dernier might have taken Operation: Arsehole too far, but to be fair, the results illustrated that Tony Stark wasn't lying about anything.

~*~

Pepper didn't mean to eavesdrop. But it didn't take much effort. Sam Wilson was on the screen. James wasn't trying to be discreet. (If James had been trying to be discreet, even Friday wouldn't have picked up anything.) She paused in the doorway of the office James had commandeered, concerned because James was raising his voice.

"Dernier blew up Tony's lab! So I don't care what you have to do to cut this mission short. Just get him here."

Sam started to reply, but James cut across him. "I don't care if you have to tranq him and stuff him in the quinjet's utility box, just get him here. I'm not wrangling these madmen alone for one more day. Fucking Jones and his Christmas carols."

"He's going to sleep on the couch when he gets there, isn't he?" Sam asked, laughter tinging his voice. "Look, the mission is running longer than any of us expected, but nothing can stop Steve from getting back to the tower as soon as it winds up. He already asked Clint and me to handle the clean-up, and you know how often that happens." Sam paused and sighed. "We're ready to strangle him here, anyway. He just _won't shut up_ about them." 

James looked ragged and tired enough Pepper thought it wasn't much of a joke. He ran his hands through his hair, dislodging the tie that had held most of it back from his face. His eyes narrowed."If he isn't here within twelve hours of the take-down, he'll be sleeping on the sidewalk," he said venomously. "For the next year."

Sam snorted a laugh. "Oooh, harsh, man."

James crossed his arms, muscles bunching under the worn soft fabric of his henley. His chin went up. "I don't see you doing fucking babysitting duty."

"And I don't see you wrestling cyborg alligators in the sewers of Mumbai," Sam said amiably. "We gotta do what we gotta do."

James cut the connection while flipping Sam off with his other, metal hand.

Pepper sighed. James was doing the majority of the heavy lifting when it came to the Commandos. Tony had tried, but the lab explosion earlier proved why Tony was no one's idea of a babysitter. The Commandos were a charming lot in their way, but she wasn't sure they weren't all certifiably insane.

If it weren't for the worry that Hydra or someone else would snatch them to find out how they'd made it to the present. Pepper thought it would have been better to just set them loose on their own. As it was, James was either going to murder them in their sleep or Steve when he came home if this went on much longer.

And if Dernier blew up one more microwave, it would be a moot point because _Pepper_ was going to kill him. She'd been snatched from her sleep by the smoke alarm every morning since they arrived.

It was time to call in some re-enforcements.

She turned back from the conference room and headed to the penthouse instead. London was six hours ahead and Darcy would most likely be back at her hotel. Pepper could take off her shoes at least while they talked.

~*~

"I'm going to gag that guy," Tony muttered to James as Jones began belting out _I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas._

"You too?" James replied.

Tony glared across the common room. 

"Have you noticed the way Falsworth keeps grinning every time Jones starts singing?" James asked.

Tony turned to him. "You think the Muzak torture is deliberate?"

James shrugged. He wasn't positive. No one would let him apply implemented interrogation techniques on Jones. But he wasn't above siccing Tony on him just on principle anyway. 

"How's the lab coming?"

"Almost back together," Tony answered. "I've been using one of my fabrication labs and linking up with Jane and Bruce."

"Jane locked you out of her lab again, didn't she?"

"She says I move her stuff."

James nodded. "She says that about everyone but Darcy."

"A good lab assistant is worth overpaying," Tony agreed. "They always run off to do their own research just when I've got them trained up."

Jones segued into _Baby, It's Cold Outside_. Steve would be finding that out for himself By the time he came home. James didn't care if the Secretary of State had requested Steve and the Avengers for an op in Puerto Rico next. He didn't care if Fury had made it an order. He didn't care if it was Puerto Rico or Prague or Poughkeepsie, the wibbly-faced bastard wasn't here.

James narrowed his eyes. "Is he drinking Red Bull?"

Tony shoved his hand through his hair. "Yeah. DUM-E found a can of Monster somewhere and gave it to him."

Christ, they'd managed to hook one of the Howling Commandos on energy drinks. That was either hilarious or horrible.

"Pepper must never know," Tony whispered.

"Steve either," James agreed. 

They shook hands to seal the pact.

~*~

The camera feed from the laptop tipped vertiginously, offering blurred glimpses of the expensive hotel room, a blur of white terrycloth, and the night sky outside, the London Eye lit above most of the skyline. Pepper always found it incongruous and wondered what native Londoners thought of it.

Darcy plumped herself and the laptop on her bed, then cursed. "Cocoa, no – "

Pepper wondered if Clint's off-duty klutziness was catching along with his vocabulary. She glimpsed Darcy swiping uselessly at a massive spill on her robe and supposed it was lucky the cocoa went on that, not bare skin, the bed or the laptop.

"Think management will send me a new robe?" Darcy asked forlornly.

"For what SI pays them, they should send you fifty," Pepper said briskly. "Take a minute, call down the front desk, ask for a fresh robe and another order of cocoa. Try setting the cup down before you sit down on the bed next time though."

"I hear and obey, sensei," Darcy snarked back. "Back in a jiffy."

Pepper put up her feet. She tried not to do that when Tony was around. She didn't mind the admiring remarks about her legs, but he'd take it as an excuse to abuse the furniture with impunity. Shoes off for the day. Things were already better. She always enjoyed talking with Darcy, who was just enough of an outsider to appreciate the sheer ridiculousness of their lives. Darcy had seen Norse gods drop out of the sky in the desert, a commando unit from World War II zapped forward in time wouldn't phase her much.

"And I'm back," Darcy declared, returning to the camera frame, wrapped in a new white robe.  
"I really love these robes. How pissed would they be if I brought one home with me?"

"They'll add it to the bill and I'll take it out of your paycheck," Pepper told her.

Darcy fake sulked. "Damn."

"How are the negotiations going?" Pepper asked. She'd get Darcy's report on the business that sent her to London first, then get to why she'd really called.

"Don't trust the British," Darcy replied promptly. "They're sneaky. Also idiots."

"What are they doing?"

"Besides Brexit?" Darcy's scorn could corrode through Tony's gold-titanium armor.

"Yes, besides that." The consequences of that economic idiocy went well beyond the United Kingdom. SI did a tremendous amount of business in the European Union. Now they had to readjust everything to exclude the UK and renegotiate or cancel any number of agreements where they did business there. Just the taxes had become doubled in difficulty. Pepper had trouble understanding how easily people had been fooled into complacency and letting their votes be wasted. An entire generation would suffer the fallout of inaction.

Worse, she'd seen the same tactics succeed in the US.

Darcy tugged the robe closer around her. "Snotty and Haughty keep trying to convince me their ideas are my ideas." Darcy frowned. Pepper tried to remember which of the British government team Darcy had dubbed Snotty and Haughty. One of the assistants to the Economics Minister and someone from actual Prime Minister's cabinet. They all consistently underestimated Darcy, which was why Pepper had sent her.

She wanted to make this deal. She wanted the UK to move to using clean, arc reactor power in place of its current power productions options. 

But arc reactors were SI proprietary physical and intellectual property. They would have to be maintained and serviced by SI personnel, the technology secured from theft or interference. That was the stumbling block with the British. They wanted the technology, not just the product or use of it. That was something that _would not_ be happening; Pepper was not about to let a government, any government, weaponize Tony's brilliance again.

"Are they still pushing for government oversight at the facilities?"

Darcy snort-laughed. "What do you think?" 

Pepper massaged the tight spot right between her eyes. "Do you think it's worth continuing the talks?"

"Haughty and Snotty had a couple of no-names with them who kept asking a lot of questions about the technicians who would handle the equipment on site. Ostensibly, they want SI to employ locally… "

SI normally did hire as many people from the location of the facilities as possible. Pepper knew the British had to know that already. It was one of the selling points of bringing in SI anywhere. SI paid well and offered great benefits as well; happy employees were loyal and more productive.

"But it smells like fish kill on the Florida coast," Pepper said. If SI built arc reactors in the UK, they would be high value targets for corporate espionage – always a problem and one SI combated with high salaries and excellent security measures – and government-sponsored espionage aimed at stealing their secrets in order to weaponize them.

"Screw it," Pepper decided. "I want you to fly back in the morning. I have something else for you to do. We'll sell to the French and the British will have to buy power from them. SI is not in business to save the British from themselves."

Darcy raised her eyebrows but didn't object further.

"At least I got to eat the best food ever," she said instead.

"You tried the place I recommended?"

Darcy moaned, deep and dirty. "It was perfect." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath like she was reliving it. "Better than perfect. Butternut squash with ginger tomatoes and lime yogurt. Candy beetroot with lentils. Who does that?"

Pepper smiled to herself, then buffed her nails before inspecting them, the picture of smug. She modeled it on Tony.

"Who does that and makes it taste so good? Damn. Friands… What is that, anyway? Oh, the blackberry and star anise thing too." Darcy groaned in remembered appreciation, a sound that would bring many men and women to their knees. If Tony had heard it, Pepper would have had to slap him on principle. "That was a foodgasm and a half. I think I should propose to Yotam."

"I think he's taken."

"Yeah, too bad his swings the same way Steve and James do. Speaking of the devil, how are my two favorite lovebirds?"

"Loaded question," Pepper replied after expelling a breath with a whoosh. "And part of why I want you back here."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Steve's on a mission and James is handling a problem for him," Pepper temporized.

"Oh, come on, don't be a tease. I'm out of the gossip loop here. You're contractually obligated to fill me in."

"What clause was that?" Pepper asked with a smile.

"The friends clause! Now dish!"

"Let me get a glass of wine first."

Pepper got her wine and proceeded to brief Darcy on the appearance of the Howling Commandos out of the past, Steve's mission that couldn't be delayed, Tony's efforts to find a way to send them back, and James' rapidly fraying patience. Wisely, she didn't mention microwaves, tea obsessions, Christmas carols or Dugan's attempts at "charming" women. She did, after all, want Darcy on the SI corporate jet in the morning.

"Okay, okay, quit selling it," Darcy said at last. "I'll be there for poor James."

"I know it's not in your job description – "

"Hey, I wrangled Thor and Erik and kept James safely unknown at MIT while everyone and their dog was hunting the Winter Soldier. Guys from the past? Piece of cake."


	7. DAY SEVEN

DAY SEVEN

James hadn't even tried to feed the Commandos at the Tower. Instead, he rousted them out early enough to save the latest microwave and took them out to a nearby diner. Not his favorite one, because he didn't want to end up barred from somewhere he liked, but a nice place that served food on platters instead of plates.

Morita was outside the diner, buying a newspaper. Trying to buy a newspaper. He didn't have any change or a card, and James could hear his voice rising. "What the fuck is this? This is robbery!" No one had ever told James that Jim Morita had a mouth like a sewer and the temper of a rabid badger.

"Time to drain the radiator," Dugan said.

James pointed toward the back and the bathrooms, then headed to pay for the enormous meal the Commandos had consumed. All of them were dressed in normal clothes that Pepper's assistant had had waiting at the Tower when they returned there from Avengers HQ. They ate like they'd been starving for weeks (or Steve every morning).

As he signed the receipt, he heard Morita's voice rising again and looked through the glass doors in time to see him punch a guy with a swastika tattoo on his neck.

"Oh shit," James muttered and bolted outside to grab Morita by the arm and drag him inside in time to keep him from kicking the dumb ass in the nuts.

"Fucking Nazi piece of shit!" Morita yelled.

"Shut up, shut up, you can't just punch people," James told him. He should have Pepper's lawyers on speed dial. God, another headache. He hadn't thought babysitting people from the 1940s would be that much trouble.

"Not even if they're Nazis?" Morita demanded. "He had a god damn Hydra pin on his jacket."

"Well," James said, "maybe wait until you aren't on camera. Back alleys are good. Or you can use spray paint to blind the lens. I once used a big blob of chewing gum on a mission in Taiwan."

"What the hell were you doing in Taiwan?" Morita asked curiously.

The guy with the shaved head out on the sidewalk made it to his feet. He glared through the glass at James and mouthed obscenities, before pulling a switchblade out of his boot. Keeping Morita's back to the door, James smiled back at the dumb ass, peeled his glove off his hand, and flipped the dumb ass off with a shiny metal finger. From the way the guy blanched and ran, he probably did have a Hydra connection.

"You know," James answered Morita, "I have no idea. I only remember the mission because Hydra didn't erase things that could be useful on a future mission. But I probably killed someone. I mean, that's what the Winter Soldier _did_."

He'd worked through any guilt of what he'd done while he was Hydra's Asset. He'd been the gun in their hands. They were the ones who decided someone had to die, aimed him and pulled the trigger. It had never been _his_ choice. Steve and Natasha and Clint had been determined to make him accept that.

Falsworth and Jones joined them. Jones was singing _I'll Be Home for Christmas._ Falsworth was still grumbling about the tea and how he expected better of the future.

The smack of a palm against a cheek – Dugan's – interrupted any further discussion. Their waitress, a bottle-blonde named Susie, drew back her arm like she was going to introduce Dugan to the concept of turning the other cheek the hard way.

"Good lord, man, what did you say this time?" Falsworth groaned.

James just dug out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to her. They really didn't need any more attention than they already caused. "Sorry about him. I'll punch him if you want – "

Susie made the bill disappear in her pocket and then scowled. "Shit, I snapped my bra strap." 

James slipped her another fifty. Pepper once dragged him on a shopping expedition that included lingerie. It was a memorable trip. Including the prices. Steve almost fainted when James mentioned them, though whether over the cost or at the thought of Pepper showing James her 'foundation wear' wasn't clear. James loved the man, but Steve was peculiar, and if the vague Bucky memories James retained were correct, had been before he became Captain America.

"Hey, I thought you said no punching?" Morita exclaimed.

"Jesus, never mind," James said, "let's get out of here before a Hydra strike team shows up." Shit. That was a real possibility. If the Hydra guy got the information about the Winter Soldier shepherding around people who looked like the infamous Howling Commandos, Hydra might put two and two together and decide they wanted to collect the whole set.

~*~

"So… what did you say to that waitress?" Jones asked Dugan when they were back at the Tower and in the elevator rising to the Avengers' floors.

"I asked her if she'd like to fuck," Dugan said.

"In those words?!" Falsworth demanded.

"Why waste time?"

James scrubbed his hands over his face. "You know that's a Russian joke, right?"

"This is why you're always getting slapped," Falsworth said, rolling his eyes skyward.

"Does it ever work?" Morita asked.

"Mostly it gets me slapped, but one out of ten women says yes. And did you see Susie's torpedoes?" Dugan grinned unrepentantly.

James thought he'd better get the man some lotion for his cheeks.

"What we're you going to do if she said yes?" Morita asked next.

"Stark's kid gave us all our own rooms, right – "

James thumped his head back against the elevator wall. He was beginning to be grateful he didn't remember these guys. The books and stories Steve had told did not do them justice.

Also, Steve wasn't getting laid for a week, because James had a headache he knew wasn't going to quit until someone else took over nurse-maiding the Commandos.

Jones began singing _Jingle Bell Rock._ How the hell had the man even memorized all these songs already?


	8. DAY EIGHT

DAY EIGHT

The loud slap snapped attention to Dum-Dum and a diminutive brunette. She'd had to reach up to land the smack, but that hadn't stopped her. Dum-Dum staggered back and rubbed his cheek while eyeing her with a mixture of bemusement and admiration.

Jim groaned under his breath. He didn't know how Dum-Dum did it. Angering so many women seemed like a talent that could have been turned to something more useful.

What, Jim didn't know, but sooner or later one of the women was going to hit Dum-Dum with more than an open palm.

The brunette had on a purple and white-striped knitted beret with two pom-poms, cat's-eye glasses, and the reddest lipstick Jim had seen on a woman who wasn't Peggy Carter. She was also curvy in all the right ways. Jim really didn't care for most of the women he'd seen on this fancy television thing who looked like they only had a meal once a week. Sure, clothes were more revealing now, but it didn't matter if there was nothing to _reveal_.

Currently, this lady's brown eyes were snapping with anger that seemed to make her curly hair fluff out like a furious cat's fur.

"No, I do not want to fuck you," she told Dum-Dum loud enough everyone heard, and all the men winced at the vulgarity. "Not today, not tomorrow, not on the twelfth of never." 

Dum-Dum's bluntness may have worked during the war, but even then, it had always been crude. Why it ever worked was beyond Jim. He supposed there was something to be said for honesty. There must be or Dum-Dum would never get laid. But he wasn't going to get laid with this lady.

She narrowed her eyes at Dum-Dum. "You're lucky you asked instead of groped." She shoved her hand down into her voluminous bag and brought out a mysterious object and waved it at Dum-Dum. "I've Tased a Norse god, don't think I won't put you on your ass."

From that, Jim assumed it was some sort of stun weapon.

"Darling, all you have to do is ask," Dum-Dum said with a salacious smile.

"Darcy!" James exclaimed as he came out of the kitchen. He looked a lot happier than he had a few minutes ago. He was a patient guy, but everyone had their limits, and Jim knew they'd been deliberately pushing his. "Don't pay any attention to Dugan."

"Pepper said you needed back-up," Darcy said doubtfully. She looked over the Commandos where they were sprawled around the room. She looked distinctly unimpressed when she finished. "So, history lied."

"As a political science major, you should know that," James commented, prompting her to laugh.

"You need a break," Darcy diagnosed.

James smiled, ducked his head, and looked at her through lowered lashes. It wasn't quite the way Sarge had flirted back during the war, but it was the closest Jim had seen from him yet. It hurt, but it was also good seeing more from him than a dead-eyed glare. Even annoyed and provoked were better than that, another reason they kept playing at idiots. 

"I'd appreciate it. Or I'm going to go back to killing people, starting with them."

They weren't that bad, Jim thought. Yet. Frenchie slipped a bottle of something orange out of his pocket and poured it on the remote sitting on the glass coffee table. The remote hissed and bubbled and began melting and sparking. Poisonous looking black smoke drifted off it. Well, maybe they were that bad, since they were trying to be trying.

"I'll inform Mr. Stark the common room needs a new universal remote," Friday stated from thin air.

"Again?" Monty asked.

"Ooops?" Frenchie said with a fake innocent look.

Jim exchanged a look with Gabe. Gabe also looked innocent, but Jim knew he'd been the one to pocket the bottle of acid from Stark's lab. What was it they called it these days. Enabler!

He had a feeling Stark and James might go with the more accurate accomplice if they found out.

Okay, they were exactly as bad as James made out.

"I bet I know a way to restore your sanity," she said, waggling her eyebrows. "Too bad you're taken. Though, you know, if you ever – "

James shushed her. A rather adorable flush spread across his face. "Darcy, they're from the '40s."

"Not choir boys, though, considering my welcome."

That was a cue if Jim ever saw one. "I'm sorry for my team-mate, Miss," Jim said. "I'm James Morita." He turned and pointed toward the rest of the Commandos who slouched on the common room sofas. "That's Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, Monty Falsworth — "

Monty put his book down and looked up. "Montgomery, if you please."

"I don't please. He's Monty." Jim grinned at Monty who gave a long-suffering sigh. "And you already made the acquaintance of Dum-Dum Dugan."

"Dum-Dum?" Darcy echoed. "That fits." She curled her nose in a way that was as adorable as James' flush had been. She gave a cheerful wave at the rest of the Commandos after. "Just call me Darcy, guys." Narrowing her eyes at Dum-Dum, she added, "Except for you."

Dum-Dum sat his hat on straighter. "Oh, what do I get to call you?"

"Miss Lewis. I'll also accept Goddess of Electricity and Scientist Wrangler Par Excellence." She held up the Taser and blue sparks jumped between its prongs.

"That's a mouthful," James commented in a dry tone.

"I'm sure they all are," Darcy said with a wicked glint that made Jim think of Mae West and her 'better when I'm bad' quip when he realized what she'd meant. He had a feeling Darcy could give anyone a run for their money. God lord, women were forward now.

"So, listen, you losers," Darcy announced, "I work for Pepper Potts, who you may also know as She Who Must Be Obeyed, which means you better obey me too, or suffer the consequences of the Wrath of Potts. The Wrath of Potts includes cancelling your credit cards, so you better take it seriously."

"Yes, ma'am," Monty said and sat up straighter. They'd all been incredibly impressed by Miss Potts. No one wanted to make her mad at them. 

"I like that. Just keep up with the yes, ma'ams, and we'll get along great. Meanwhile, James gets a break from you guys. I will play time travel guide from nine to midnight, my services do not include anything illegal or icky, but if you do get busted for punching a Nazi again, I will applaud and arrange bail."

"Smashing," Monty said.

James gave them all a distinctly jaundiced look. "Right. If you screw up with Darcy, I'm locking you all in the Hulk basement and Friday will lose the lockdown code, understand? Obey her the way you would Agent Carter, because that Taser will make you wish you'd just been punched. Okay? Okay. I'm out of here."

"Get some," Darcy told him cheerfully as James left. 

He flipped her the bird behind his back and replied, "Steve's never going to let you watch, Darcy."

"Never say never! Do a girl a solid, James."

"The only one I'm going to do is Steve."

"You're both so selfish!"

"Get a boyfriend."

"Why? I've already got a vibrator. I just want some visual stimulation."

James shook his head and exited the room. Dum-Dum had actually gone red in the face. Monty was hiding behind his newspaper. Frenchie was snickering while Gabe just shook his head. Darcy seemed oblivious to their reactions or how inappropriate that exchange had been.

Jim wondered if James said that just to make them uncomfortable or if he and Darcy really talked this openly.

Darcy made a face. "Oh, man, it's true, all the good ones are gay."

Jim and the rest of the Commandos stared at her.

"So, I think we should all be on a first name basis, like I said. Except Dummy. I'll always be Miss Lewis to him."


	9. DAY NINE

DAY NINE

Darcy took over the next morning. She listened to Monty complain about the electric kettle and the tea for five minutes before she put her foot down.

"Fine. We're going to a tea shop. You will acquire whatever implements you consider necessary to brewing 'proper' tea," she told Monty. "After which you will shut your fat yob about your tea or I will knee you in the ya-yas." She smiled brightly at him, noting from the corner of her eye how the rest of the Commandos winced and moved abortively to protect their crotches. Monty paled and nodded.

Good, they all understood each other. James was too soft.

She clapped her hands together. "Let's go."

The Commandos exchanged glances and obeyed. Darcy kept smiling to herself. They didn't need to know she'd studied archival footage of Peggy Carter and was mimicking her body language. Or that Darcy intended to get some dresses that were in the vintage style that Carter had rocked. Pepper had exquisite taste, but her style didn't fit Darcy's form.

There was a moment as they were heading to the chauffeured SI vehicle when James popped up, worried about them going out without security. Darcy waved him off. It was a tight fit with five big men and her in the back anyway. Besides, she had her Taser.

James insisted on slipping a Glock and an extra clip in Darcy's purse. Just in case. He really was sweet in a homicidal way.

She squealed when he handed her a second item.

"You have a black Amex!?" 

"Yeah." James shrugged. "Courtesy of Tony."

"Will you marry me?"

"No, you can't – "James lost the thread when he realized what Darcy had asked. "I… what?"

"You have a black Amex. Will you marry me?"

"Woman, do you have no standards?" Dum-Dum asked.

Darcy shrugged and aimed a suggestive wink at James. "I wouldn't marry _you_ for a black Amex, Dumbo. James, though, is a sweetheart. It wouldn't be a hardship."

"It's Dum-Dum!"

"I wouldn't brag about that, if I were you."

James blushed. It was even cuter than when Steve did it. Darcy fought to not pat his cheek. She knew she was one of the few people who never treated him like a stick of sweaty dynamite or some fragile eggshell of a person. Tony and Pepper were the others. Natasha and Clint were too paranoid to ever forget James had been the Winter Soldier and still possessed all those skills. Sam was always thinking about his trauma, Bruce was always thinking about his own trauma, Vision over-analyzed everything, and Wanda always wanted to apologize for having been taken in by Hydra when she was child.

Steve… was Steve, overconcerned and overbearing but so nice you couldn't justify kicking him.

"You might have a Steve-shaped problem in marrying James," Monty cautioned. Darcy gave him points for being accepting. He didn't even seem surprised. She'd have to ask James if the Commandos had been briefed or figured it out themselves.

"Eh." Darcy made a throwaway gesture. "If he has a black Amex as well, we can all get married in a state that's not averse to bigamy." She turned a speculative gaze on James. "You, me, and the Dorito. It's destiny."

James raised his eyebrows. "I'm not getting married in Utah," he kidded. "Do any other states encourage bigamy?"

"Would it be bigamy or polygamy?" Darcy wondered. "If we're all consenting?"

"I don't see Steve consenting."

Jim coughed ostentatiously. 

She knew James liked her a hell of lot, but Monty was right. It was a good thing Steve wasn't around. Steve was possessive as hell, which surprised everyone. If he'd been with them, Darcy's teasing would have had him grabbing onto James and glaring at the world, jaw set, shoulders back, as if he defied anyone or anything to come between them.

It was cute the first hundred times. Darcy had wanted to Taser him after that. She didn't know how James stayed so patient. Over-possessive boyfriends were not sexy.

"So selfish," Darcy whined dramatically.

"I could always hire you as disaster wrangler. You can clean up after Steve."

"Pepper pays better."

"Then this whirlwind romance is over, I'm afraid."

"Hey, sweetheart, if you want someone to marry …" Dum-Dum waggled his eyebrows at Darcy.

"Dugan, do you want me to slap you again?"

"It' ain't punishment if you like it."

James, Jim, Gabe and Monty groaned in unison. Dernier giggled. It was disturbing.

"I could always burn your stupid hat."

Dum-Dum's grin slipped.

"I still would very much like to have a decent cup of tea," Monty stated.

"And I'm hungry," Jim added. "Is there no food in this town?"

" _Proper food._ " Dernier interjected. 

Gabe began humming out _Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer._

"Fine," James grumbled. "Take them to breakfast and we'll all go out to the fanciest damn French restaurant in the city tonight. Use Tony's name, since we won't have reservations." He glared at Monty. "You shut up about the tea or I'll feed you boiled shoe leather and thistles."

"Don't worry about that," Darcy assured him.

Once in the car, Gabe immediately asked Friday to play Christmas carols. Immediately, the others cringed, but Darcy kept on smiling. When Gabe hummed, she hummed, and once he had the words, she sang right along with him.

Darcy had to admit that he had a nice singing voice. She didn't. She could see it getting to Gabe – not the mention the others – as soon as she joined in.

"I love to sing," she said when the carol ended and the next one began.

"Is that what you call that?" Jim mumbled.

Gabe waited a moment before beginning to hum again. Darcy waited a beat then joined in. A second later, Gabe fell silent. Darcy stopped humming and beamed at the Commandos. They were all wide-eyed and cowed. They could be taught!

Darcy pointed out interesting landmarks and important stores – the best place to get a matcha tea smoothie, her favorite place to buy yarn, the best place to buy cheap fashion knock-offs that wouldn't turn your skin green, the guy who could fix any high heel, and the bodega that always had the right brand of tampons.

The driver doubled-parked in front of the Teavana shop to a cacophony of outraged car horns and they piled out. He promised to circle the block until they were done.

"I don't understand how it can be so hard to get a proper cup of tea," Monty complained. "It's the future. Isn't everything supposed to be better in the future? How can the tea be worse?"

"Everything can be worse," Darcy advised him.

"That's rather cynical, Miss Lewis."

"I studied political science," she explained and preceded to the shop. Dum-Dum rushed to open the door for her.

Half an hour later, Darcy had begun to understand James' frustration with the Commandos. Monty would not make his mind up and the others weren't helping by offering more and more possibilities gleaned from the shelves.

"What about this one?" Dum-Dum asked, holding up a tin.

"This one says it's all organic," Jim interrupted.

"Get them both. Get them all, just get a move on," Darcy muttered to herself.

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to waste money. I just want some simple tea."

"Monty, if you keep going on about simple tea, I will make you walk home."

"I have walked halfway across Europe, Miss Lewis. That's not the threat you think it is."

Darcy tapped her boot on the floor loudly, then lifted her foot in a swing. "Try it after I kick you. Ya-yas, remember?" Monty snapped his mouth shut. "Get your tea. Get all the damn tea in China."


	10. DAY TEN

DAY TEN

After failing to reach James, Tony, or Natasha for hours, Bruce finally answered Steve in the middle of the Indian night.

Clint and Sam were asleep, otherwise they'd have bound and gagged him the way they'd threatened to earlier in the day. Sam had said something about a hanging and a druid in Asterix. Steve had had to sneak into another room to make the video call connection – he had to use video call because Friday was blocking direct comms. No one understood how worried Steve was. James was with his old team all on his own (Tony did _not_ count) and Steve knew what a handful they were.

"Hey Bruce."

"Steve, hi." Bruce's head appeared on the screen of his phone, his curls on end. Lab equipment came into view behind him. Bruce looked ragged and as if he hadn't left the lab in a few days. Either he was working with Tony or laying low to avoid Natasha's wrath. Or both.

"You're still in the lab?"

Bruce ran a hand over a stray curl, looking away from the screen. "It's the afternoon."

Steve bit back on a smile. "And how many afternoons have you spent there without leaving the lab?" 

"How's Mumbai?"

"Hot. Humid. Frustrating."

"I wish I was with you," Bruce said. He'd spent a lot of time in India, but that wasn't why Bruce would want to go on a mission.

Steve winced in sympathy. "Nat still not talking to you?"

"I think we have a truce, and it never would have worked out in the first place, but she …" Bruce paled visibly. "She glares at me."

Steve schooled his face into a mask of sympathy. "That _is_ frightening."

"You're laughing at me," Bruce stated.

Steve raised his hands, palms out. "I'd never."

"I can see you laughing at me. Internally. Behind your face. You're laughing."

"You've got to admit that you kind of deserve it."

Bruce slumped. Steve almost felt sorry for needling him. But Nat had always been a closer friend than Bruce and Steve had always been ready to take sides. And, identity crisis or none, Bruce should be glad he was still alive after the stunt he'd pulled.

"I guess I do. Think she'll ever talk to me again?"

"Nat is nothing if not pragmatic. Give her time."

"It's been a year."

"Time's a funny thing." He decided to take pity on Bruce. "To answer your question, Mumbai is … memorable." Steve shuddered. The people of Mumbai were beautiful and generous, but he hadn't spent this much time crawling through mud since Basic. And back then, it hadn't been stinking sewer mud. Damn robot crocodiles. "I'm going to shower for a week when I'm back."

"James will appreciate that."

"How's he holding up?" It wasn't a good sign that James wasn't answering his calls.

"He's… " Bruce trailed off, a sympathetic look on his face. "He's looked happier."

Oh, crap. Bruce was the master of euphemisms.

The solution was as easy as it was hard. "They need to go back."

Bruce scratched his unshaved chin, frowning. "I thought you of all people would want them to stay?"

"It's not – " Steve shoved both hands through his hair. He'd had this conversation with Clint, with Sam and even with Vision. Even Vision had been against him. He still couldn't understand that. "Why does everyone think I'm some horrible person for making it clear what needs to be done?"

"Never said you were a horrible person," Bruce placated. "It still surprises me that this comes from you, though."

"I don't know why everyone just keeps ignoring the dangers their stay poses."

"Who says we do?"

"You're trying to make them stay!"

"Yes. And?"

He couldn't believe even Bruce was so blasé about it. He'd hoped that Bruce would understand his reasoning. "They've been taken from their time, Bruce. Think of all the changes that caused."

"Changes we already lived through. Didn't change all that much, did it?"

"How will we know what changed when it already did?"

"God, you watched _12 Monkeys_ , didn't you?"

"I – what?"

"Never mind. What I'm trying to say is that it doesn't make any difference anymore. Whether we keep them here won't change the past because it already did change. We can't tell because we have no before and after. And Hitler still lost the war and Hydra is still mostly scattered and James is still here and I'm still the Other Guy. So …"

"But what if the war ended earlier in the other timeline? What if we could save hundreds of thousands of lives by sending them back and making sure they do everything as they would if they hadn't been here?"

"I think that ship has sailed, unless you want to give them amnesia."

That was an option Steve had considered for a fleeting second but then vehemently stomped on; ashamed for thinking it in the first place. No one would have their memories taken away. It would be unethical, unbearable, unforgivable. 

"But what if by sending them back they will not do things they would have done otherwise" Steve demanded plaintively. "What if they're so keen on not making any changes that that's what causes changes?"

"What if you go running tomorrow and step on a bug?" Bruce replied. "What if that bug is the last one of its species? What if it held the key to maintaining Earth's ecology, only we never even find that out, because Steve Rogers runs in the morning? What if that bug would have bit a little kid and they had an allergic reaction? Their parent runs someone down driving to the hospital and that someone would have cured cancer or was an assassin who shot someone in the head two weeks from now? Would any of that be your responsibility? Would it be anything you could have foreseen and avoided? No." He smiled gently at Steve, a smile like a hand on his shoulder, full of comfort and understanding. "What-if can paralyze you. I know that better than anyone."

Steve drew in a deep breath and nodded. "That's what Tony, Clint, Sam and Vision have been trying to get through my head, isn't it?"

Bruce nodded. He had so much kindness in him along with his anger. "Yes. I know as a military man and a commander you feel compelled to control everything, but it isn't possible. It isn't good for you." A small, wry laugh escaped Bruce and he shook his head. "Or anyone around you. You have to learn to go with the flow, Steve. Sometimes, the rock needs to be moved."

Steve nodded. He wasn't sure he knew how to 'go with the flow'. He'd always been good at being stubborn. 

Or, as James had put it before he stopped answering Steve's calls, a bull-headed idiot.

He needed to start thinking instead of just reacting. More importantly, he needed to start appreciating what he had now, rather than ruining it trying to make sure he didn't lose it.

"Steve, if you're on the phone, I'll personally throw you in the mud," came Sam's sleepy voice from behind him.

"Thanks, Bruce," he whispered, his finger hovering over the end call button, hunched over to hide the phone. "Say hi to James for me."

Bruce raised his hands. "He might kill the messenger. Finish that mission and get yourself back home. And better bring him something nice."

"STEVE!" Clint thundered. "Give me the phone – "

"Bye, Bruce."

"Sam, get him!" Clint leaped on Steve's shoulders as Sam darted around him and Steve tried to stuff the phone in his pants. They went down in a knot of flailing elbows and knees.

"Give up the phone, _Blubber Boy_ ," Sam demanded.

Steve paled in horror. Friday, that _traitor_ , had shared the video of Dum-Dum and the rest of them. Now the Avengers knew his secret weakness. He'd known the Commandos showing up could only end in disaster.

Clint's fingers found Steve's ribs. Gasping and squeaking, Steve tried to pry Clint off, but couldn't do that and keep Sam from triumphantly snatching the phone.

"I'll just be holding onto this until we head home," Sam declared.

"Sam – " Steve gasped.

"We finish this thing tomorrow and you can go home and harass your boyfriend in person," Sam told him. "Calling him twenty times a day is not helping how pissed he is with you. I'm really doing you a favor."


	11. DAY ELEVEN

DAY ELEVEN

Half past two in the afternoon was a time James usually took a nap, so Steve tip-toed into their apartment, hiding the spice assortment he'd bought in Mumbai before he got in the quinjet behind his back. The apartment was quiet; the sun-warmed chair James usually favoured was empty.

Clint, Sam and Vision had stayed behind to handle the both the clean-up and the press and had insisted that he get, "The hell back to New York so you can helicopter parent your old team or bone your boyfriend or whatever, just get out of here." There were some things even Steve didn't need to be told twice.

He had noticed that James was irritated even before he stopped answering Steve's calls, of course, so he'd gone to the best spice market in the city and had bought ten different kinds of masalas and some other local specialities. Whenever he went on a mission, he brought James some food-related gift. Usually one. This time seemed to warrant going all out – and to surprise James with his early return.

His shoulders fell when he saw their couch, James' other usual spot, empty, despite the sun warming it through the big windows. Steve still loved watching James sleep, relaxed and sprawled wherever it was warm. He'd looked forward to that little moment of peace and quiet after the mess in Mumbai and the Howlies being in the here and now.

He checked the bedroom, but the stillness of the apartment told him it too would be empty.

Either the lab or the common room, then. Of course, he could have asked Friday, but after ratting him out to Sam and Clint, he trusted her even less than he had before. He'd find James on his own.

He should have factored in the Commandos. He couldn't get into Tony's lab. It was locked down. Though Friday was polite enough to inform him James wasn't inside in any case and Tony was not to be disturbed. A wall-shivering _thump_ from within convinced Steve of that. 

James was likely busy escorting one or all of the Commandos, who weren't much for mid-afternoon naps. Though they did like to sleep late through most of their hangovers. Steve had seen them stumbling and moaning as late as noon a few times back during the war. There'd been that time with the retsina – which tasted like someone mixed pine tar and gasoline to Steve – when Dum-Dum had had to crawl to the camp's lavatory stall the next morning.

So, no naps. No wonder James had been getting peevish when Steve called him.

He went to the Avengers' floor, still carrying his bag of present-slash-bribe spices and starting to feel a little put out. James was not cooperating with Steve's happy 'surprise, I'm home!' plans. Steve snorted at his own self-centeredness. It was like James had his own life that didn't orbit around Steve! (A lesson it had taken time for Steve to absorb, that left him feeling even guiltier over the ways he'd taken Bucky for granted even before the war. He kept that part to himself though and worked at being better with James.)

Which meant he had just settled on giving in and asking Friday for James' whereabouts and sworn to himself he wouldn't interrupt if James was busy, when he spotted him in the common kitchen, clearly setting out the ingredients to feed lunch to a number of people.

He was alone for the moment though and a smile took over Steve's face just watching him from the back.

He kept Nat's lessons in silent movement in mind as he snuck up on James.

He'd just reached out a hand to carefully rest it on James' arm when James whirled and flipped him to his back with a swift motion. The spice packages flew through the room in a high arch and landed on the floor with a dull thud. One of them opened upon impact and filled the room with the smell of coriander and curry.

James glared at him from above him. "Steve, what the hell?"

"Hi?" Steve said from the floor. He gave a careful wave. "I take it you're still mad at me?"

"You need to work on your sneaking up on people skills," James said but reached a hand to help Steve up. The metal one. That meant Steve was still on the 'shit list' as Sam called it. At least he was helping him up. Not that Steve would have needed it, but it was the gesture that counted.

He motioned toward the spice packages several inches away from him. A yellow powder had covered the floor and most of the other bags. "I … brought you something."

James stared at it and the tiniest hint of a smile crept into his eyes. "Dragon fodder? I'm not that easily bought." He pointed a finger at Steve. "You're sleeping on the couch."

"I was on a mission!" Steve said, unable to keep the outrage fully out of his voice.

"And I wrangled madmen." James paused. "Alone."

Everything he could say in his defence wouldn't work, Steve knew. James needed to voice and vent his anger. In a way, Steve was glad that he did that instead of swallowing everything, the way he'd done in the beginning. It still sucked being on the receiving end of it. "I'm sorry."

James crossed his arms. Uh-oh. The Stare.

"I'm really sorry."

James rolled his eyes. "Don't be sorry for being on a mission. I know it wasn't your idea." He uncrossed his arms again and rubbed a hand over his face. "You made that clear in the first call. And the second. And the fifteenth."

"You blocked my calls." That still smarted a bit.

"I didn't need to hear the same apology another fifteen times. I was a bit busy with your old team."

He looked tired, and older than he had since Steve had last seen him.

"I'll take over now," he assured James. "You can take a break."

James flickered a grin; his body language relaxed a little. "I'm actually taking a break right now. Darcy is off with the lunatics."

"Darcy?" Steve sucked in a sharp breath. "Darcy Lewis?"

"Yeah, she's been a great help." James opened a cabinet and got two mugs out. The royal blue hand-pottered one Steve had brought from a mission to Poland. That usually meant James was in a good mood. It had taken Steve a while, but he'd deciphered that James had mood-mugs. He really needed to watch out when James was drinking from the large, aggressively pink Hello Kitty one. As far as he could see over James' shoulder, that one was in front, indicating regular use in the last few days. Not good. The idea of Darcy of all people running around with the Howlies gave him a headache, but if it helped James, and if he and Pepper trusted her, then …

"You don't approve."

Steve raised a hand. "No, no, it's fine. I'm just surprised. She's not the first person I would have thought of calling for help."

"Steve, you would have called no one for help."

Steve ducked his head. "Fair enough." He watched James open the fridge. "What are you making?"

"Hot chocolate." The flourish with which James set the milk on the counter brought some cool air that had the hair in Steve's arms rising. It was a lot colder here than it had been in Mumbai. Steve rubbed his hands over his arms and closed his eyes. Hot chocolate sounded like a good idea just about now. God, he was tired.

The clink-scratch of ceramic being set on marble and the slosh of milk – different from water, duller, more viscous, somehow – into mugs shook him from his fugue state. Well, if he was sleeping on the couch anyway, he might as well accept his fate and sit down already. Here in the common room or in their living room didn't make all that much of a difference. It'd be lonely one way or the other.

Steve dragged his feet a little as he went, the sound of his socked feet louder than he expected in the quiet apartment. He let himself fall on the tan couch and the upholstery gave a satisfying sigh. Tony had ordered new, reinforced furniture for everyone once it became clear that Avengers movie night became a regular thing and the combined weight of two super soldiers and at least two or three more Avengers had proven too much for the regular furniture. As he splayed his hand, he touched something soft as a kitten and smiled when he recognised his gift to James: the blanket with bookshelves printed all over it. He'd caught James squinting at it a few times, trying to make out the titles on the dust jacket, smiling when he found another one he recognised. Steve had had it made specifically for James, including all the books he knew James had read and the ones that were on his ever growing to read list. It turned out to be a large blanket.

As much as he got that James was angry, he had really hoped to get home and find some normalcy – and some cuddling. Okay, and some sex. He wasn't going to lie. But just being with James, feeling him close would have been enough. He brought that on himself, though. No one made him say yes when Fury called with the mission, and in fact, he could have said no and stayed and helped James. On the other hand, then Clint, Sam and Vision would have had to fight the alligators all on their own. It was a damn rock and a hard place decision.

He huffed out a breath, closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. This wasn't helpful and gave him a headache, anyway. So, better to quit moping and just accept that there would be no cuddling and definitely no sex tonight. He was enough of an adult (had taken him long enough) to just enjoy the sounds of James in the kitchen, knowing he was around.

The clinking, whisking, walking – barefoot, for some reason, James was averse to socks even in winter – scraping, rustling of plastic and opening and closing of containers lulled Steve into a comfortable doze.

Even when the couch dipped, it took him a while to wake a little from his comfortable cocoon of warmth, sleepiness and familiar sounds. When he opened his eyes, he saw James next to him, close enough he could count his lashes and see every single laugh wrinkle.

He twitched a little. It was a testament to how comfortable he was around James that he hadn't even heard him approach. "Mnh?"

James' smile grew wider. "You're drooling."

A blush began to heat Steve's cheeks and he tried to worm his hands out from under the blanket cocoon to wipe at his mouth – which turned out to be completely dry.

James' smile turned into a smirk. "Gotcha."

Steve pouted.

"That was only cute in the first few months," James said, but the smile never left his eyes. He bent forward to the couch table and reached for something Steve wasn't ready to concentrate on – the movement of muscles under James' shirt was occupying his mind too much. He itched to run his hand along James' back, just to feel the warmth and the raw strength hidden under soft skin.

When James turned back to Steve, he had the blue, hand-pottered mug and another hand-pottered one, this one brown with stylised leaves cut into it, in his hands. Both mugs were topped with cream. Where the cream didn't reach the edge of the mug, small curls of steam rose from the liquid underneath. The brown one was the calm afternoon mug, Steve realised. That … boded well.

"For me?" he asked.

James rolled his eyes. "No, for the other person sitting on this couch."

They sipped their hot chocolate in silence, both wiping cream off the other's nose at some point.

When they had finished, James set the mugs back on the table and stretched out on the couch, his head in Steve's lap. Steve tensed a little, unsure how to proceed. "I … thought I was sleeping on the couch tonight?"

James closed his eyes, reached for Steve's hand and put it on his head, like a cat that wanted petting, then linked his fingers with Steve's free hand. "I never said you were going to sleep on it alone."

~*~

Dr. Stephen Strange was not at Unicorn when Tony arrived carefully on time for their lunch. And then he was, stepping from a golden portal so swiftly only Tony noticed. Strange straightened the cuffs of his Savile Row suit, then raised his eyebrows at Tony and gestured that they should proceed into the restaurant.

Tony gritted his teeth and went. He took off his yellow-tined sunglasses once they were indoors and smoothed his goatee. It was far better than Strange's Van Dyke.

Once they were seated, Strange commented, "Molecular gastronomy isn't my favorite, but I suppose this is better than Tavern on the Green."

"I'll make a note," Tony said. A note to never _ever_ find himself in need of Strange's expertise again. He'd go to Tibet and study all the woo-woo magic himself if he had to, just so he wouldn't have to share a table with the arrogant bastard again. Pepper owed him so much for agreeing to this. "But feel free to experiment. The meal's on me after all."

"I was surprised when Miss Potts arranged this luncheon." Strange managed to make it sound like Tony couldn't manage making a lunch appointment himself. Or that Strange wouldn't have agreed if it hadn't been Pepper asking.

The latter was probably true. Certainly, if Strange called asking Tony to lunch, he'd only do it if Pepper insisted. The way she'd insisted he consult Strange since it looked more and more like the Commandos had been brought forward in time through magic.

Tony _loathed_ 'magic'.

"I suppose you couldn't get into Bounty." 

Tony knew his insecurity wasn't what was making him hear the insult. _Pepper, Pepper, Pepper_ , he recited to himself.

"There's a three-month waiting list for reservations," he pointed out.

"So you couldn't get them to fit you in?" Strange sounded like he could get the restaurant to fit him in.

"Of course, I could," Tony told him. "Enough money will buy anything. But it would be rude to take the reservation of someone who waited months and ruin the plans of how many people." _Hah, take that, you quack!_ Tony conveniently ignored that Pepper had explained that to him just the night before. 

"If you say so," Strange replied, tone giving away his annoyance at Tony scoring a moral point against him.

The waiter arrived to explain their options, fluttering a little when he recognized Tony. They ordered and sat back. The waiter hadn't recognized Strange and ignored him a little. Irritation made him more a twit and he'd questioned everything about the dish he finally ordered.

Tony was amused.

"Nice suit, by the way," Tony said after they'd ordered. "What happened to the cape?"

"I left it at the Sanctum."

"Trip on it once too often?"

"How do you manage those lifts in your boots so gracefully?"

Tony gritted his teeth. Polite and respectful, Pepper had told him. Courteous. She'd coached him through everything he should do and say through the luncheon. The least she could do, since she refused to endure even 'ten minutes I don't need to in his insufferable presence!' and told Tony this was Avenger business and not hers.

' _Don't say what you're thinking for once,'_ Pepper had advised. _'It's a skill every woman develops before puberty._ '

Which, ouch. That made Tony wonder how many times she'd bit her tongue around him, never mind the run of the mill idiots in the business world.

Tony had specifically asked for a table in a private portion of the restaurant, but Unicorn had a lot of windows. He noticed the paparazzi gathering on the sidewalk when the volume of car horns began rising. Jackasses with long lenses and more than a few parabolic microphones were carelessly double parking, screwing up the traffic flow. He imagined it wouldn't be too long before some pissed off cabby leaped out and hammered someone into the pavement. New York traffic was bad enough.

Strange observed the gathering crowd with a moue of distaste. "I hope you don't want to talk about anything private."

"Don't worry, I've got this taken care of," Tony said. He pulled A new device from inside his jacket and set it on the table and pressed two buttons. "That scrambles audio and visual recordings for a half block around us."

Strange cupped his palm and made a series of ornate gestures over it with his other hand, reciting something in a language that wasn't Latin. That it sounded old was all Tony could say of it. Thin glowing lines of gold light followed Strange's fingers, weaving into a sphere. It was remarkable like a ball of yarn, really.

Strange snapped his fingers and the light expanded around their table, dimming into invisibility just as it stopped expanding. Tony caught a hint of a green glow from beneath Strange's tailored shirt.

"There. We're invisible to anyone we don't wish to see us from outside and anyone inside who approaches close enough to recognize us will immediately forget us," Strange stated.

 _Magic._ Urgh. 

"Nice trick," Tony made himself say.

"Simple for a sorcerer of my caliber."

"Or anyone with your fancy jewelry," Tony said, with a wave toward where Strange had a freaking Infinity Stone hanging around his neck and under his shirt. "The Eye of Egg Soup or whatever, right?"

"Agamotto," Strange corrected rigidly. "The Eye of Agamotto."

"Right. I guess chest jewelry has gone out of style since I got rid of the arc reactor," Tony agreed.

Strange closed his eyes, took a deep breath then exhaled before looking at Tony. "What possessed you to arrange this meeting, Stark?"

Tony resisted the urge to preen. He'd exhausted Strange's patience and beat him at being a polite little shit. He really couldn't gloat though, since he did need something from him.

He nodded instead. "It's the Time Stone, right?"

"Yes," Strange confirmed.

"So have you noticed anything off or weird – " Tony resisted saying _strange_ " – about time lately?"

"Have you?" Strange was engaged.

"Do five historical figures from World War II showing up in the bedroom of an Avenger several days ago count?" Tony recounted the appearance of the Howling Commandos and his own growing conviction that their jaunt to the future had not involved science or any technology he could currently create.

"There's been no divergence or interruption of the Time Stream," Strange said.

"I'm going to guess that that's a good thing?"

"Yes." Strange was abstracted. "So far."

"Which is why I'm reaching out to you."

"A surprisingly sensible choice on your part."

"I can't find any sign that they're from a parallel universe," Tony said. "And Steve's convinced they're the real thing."

"I will investigate the situation," Strange said. He stood, opened a portal and disappeared through it. Rude. Their food hadn't even arrived.

Tony sat for another ten minutes before realizing that Strange's spell had made everyone in the restaurant forget he was there – along with their meal order. The paparazzi who had been outside were all gone as well.

~*~

The idea of a gymnasium dedicated to keeping fit and not fat wasn't completely new to any of the Commandos, they were familiar with boxers who trained and had all suffered through boot camp, but it still seemed bizarre. Of them all, only Monty came from a family well off enough that they'd never worried about having enough to eat. Since the war, even he'd gone hungry (and that didn't factor in their time as Hydra prisoners).

But after a few days of eating all they wanted and doing very little compared to the physically demanding life they'd been living in the past and they were grateful to follow James to the Avengers' gym in the Tower and burn off some energy. The first time, James showed them the equipment. After that, he went through his own routines and left them on their own.

Since then, they'd been coming down to the gym every day.

Natasha had been in the gym today and they'd all watched slack-jawed as James sparred with her. It looked more like a no-holds-barred attempt to murder each other and made Dum-Dum swallow hard. That was one woman he wasn't going to proposition. Watching her lock her thighs around James' throat and choke him out provided a visceral reason her code name was Black Widow.

The flip James retaliated with would have slammed Natasha's head top down into the matts with all her and his weight driving her down and either cracked her skull like an egg or broken her neck if she hadn't caught herself with her hands. They still came down hard and she had to release and roll away, barely escaping a sweep from James' metal arm. They kept at it for an hour, sweating and drawing blood even before the knives came out. 

Dum-Dum felt sore and slow just watching them. He'd thought Steve, with his super soldier physique, was impressive, but he'd never moved like that. Imagining what Captain America could do after training with Black Widow and the Winter Soldier (and Dum-Dum wasn't dumb, he knew the man on the training mats wasn't Bucky Barnes any longer) was scary.

He supposed the Winter Soldier was scary too, but not James. Not really. The man had a sniper's patience that handled all the Commandos' acting out with surprising grace. 

Everyone they'd been in contact with had been more than decent to them.

That was why the boys were gathered in the locker room showers with the water raining down full blast. Friday listened everywhere but swore she didn't actively monitor the showers or locker room unless someone said her name or certain keywords.

What those keywords were, they didn't know, but hopefully they could muffle everything and talk without being monitored.

"What do you think?" Dum-Dum asked. They weren't quite in the showers, but a fine mist drifted from them, cool against his face, beading on his brows and eyelashes. If they talked very long, the dampness would sink into their clothes, but none of them were comfortable stripping and talking literally in the showers, though it would have been more secure.

He watched Jim and Gabe trade glances. Those two were always thick as thieves. Used to be outsiders, even in the Army, he guessed. Frenchie looked at the ceiling, squinting, and whistled a tune Dum-Dum recognized vaguely. Monty frowned seriously. Poor bastard, he'd never wanted command, would have been better off if he hadn't been an officer. 

"Well, I believe we can all agree this is not a trick," Monty said. He raised his eyebrows and everyone nodded. The car ride from upstate to the city had been enough to convince Dum-Dum. There had been too many cars on multilane highways rolling along at speeds that would have made them race cars back in the Thirties. New York itself had just enough of the past showing through to convince him it had been the city he'd known once. 

Lady Liberty was still out there on Ellis Island and the Brooklyn Bridge still spanned the water. 

Dum-Dum wasn't sure if Gabe or Jim had ever passed through New York. Frenchie and Monty hadn't, so they'd been slower to believe.

There was no point to denying they were seventy-three years in the future.

"Anyone think these folks are lying to us about anything else?" Gabe asked.

If they'd been going to lie, they would have hid James being a Hydra killer, Dum-Dum figured. Though it would have been hard to fake him being the Sarge they remembered when he didn't remember _them_. But, hell, if this was a set-up, Steve would have stuck around to reassure them, not taken off on some secret mission.

"There's probably plenty they aren't telling us," Jim said, but he shrugged as he spoke. "But, hell, we're soldiers. We're used to it."

"Loose lips sink ships," Monty agreed.

"Seeing Cap, having him back, and Sarge, no matter what happened, that's something," Dum-Dum said. It had felt like half his heart had been ripped from his chest when they came back from the Alps without Sarge, and the rest of it got stomped to smithereens when Steve hadn't made it back from stopping Schmidt. It was enough to make a man curse God and then thank him for this chance to see them again. He wasn't much of a religious man, but all of this was just too strange and wonderful to be just the work of man.

Frenchie yabbered something. Gabe raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"They don't want us to know how things happened, since they mean to send us back to the war," Gabe explained.

Dum-Dum scowled at that. "Why the hell not? Hell, from what I can figure, all of us – " he gestured to them, " – and all of the rest of the world fell down on the job. Steve and the Sarge, we figured they laid down their lives stopping Hydra and we could just sit back on our asses. That's how those bastards came back. We didn't do our part, we weren't watching for 'em!"

"Agreed," Monty said.

"They don't want us to change their past."

Dum-Dum stared at Gabe, then checked the rest of their faces, seeing that they all agreed with that estimate.

"Bugger that," Monty finally said.

"Falsworth," Jim started, quieter and more serious than Dum-Dum had seen him since Peggy exited the radio hut and told them Steve had gone down. "They're worried about paradoxes. You can't go back in time and kill you grandfather, because then you don't exist to go back in time, and round and round and round."

Dum-Dum snorted in derision. "Bull hockey. You go back in time and kill the old coot after your father or mother's born. No paradox involved."

"No one's going back and killing their grandparents," Gabe exclaimed. He lifted his hands like he wanted to tear at his hair.

"No, we're going to go back and kill that weaselly motherfucker Zola," Dum-Dum said. "Then we're going into Eastern Europe and getting the Sarge back and killing a bunch Russians, telling Howard where to find Cap so he doesn't spend seventy years frozen, and making sure after we've got them back that we hunt down and end every bastard who ever contemplated doing Hydra's work."

"And then this future doesn't happen," Jim stated.

They all shared another look.

"Look," Dum-Dum said, "I like these people. They're good. They're doing their damn best. There's a lot to be said for here and now. But, face it, three-quarters of a century later, they're still cleaning up _our_ mess."

Frenchie was nodding. He got it.

"Everything good now happened _despite_ Hydra, despite us failing."

"Think about what they all could've been doing by now if it weren't for Hydra poisoning the future," Monty added quietly.

Dum-Dum nodded vehemently. "Exactly!"

"They're scared we'll make it worse," Gabe said.

"Well, hell, Gabe, every damn thing you ever do in life could make things worse," Dum-Dum told him. "All anyone can ever do is their best to make things better." He gestured, taking in the showers and locker room and the world beyond it. "They don't know a damn bit more than we do. Not really. No one does."

Gabe looked doubtful. Frenchie and Jim gave cautious little nods, though, and Monty looked ready to bull his way back to the past and 'fix' every damn thing they could find out about. Dum-Dum had got himself some history books that were real, paper books at the bookstore with Miss Lewis. From what he'd read and knew about Hydra, the twenty years after their war ended had changed the face and future of the world. He knew damn well that he and the boys, even if they didn't get Sarge and Cap back, could make a difference.

In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Something like that. With just what they'd learned accidentally in the future, they could change things. Save people Hydra had killed. Kill assholes that Hydra had promoted.

He was damn sure Alexander God Damn Pierce needed to be smothered in his cradle. Except that was the wrong way, Dum-Dum guessed. Alexander God Damn Pierce needed to be snatched from his cradle and raised to be the man he'd pretended to be.

They could do that. 

And if it turned out Pierce as just an evil sonovabitch, Dum-Dum could put one between his eyes.

"If we go back and act like we don't know, maybe _that's_ what changes," Jim said at last. "Maybe we make it worse by not doing anything."

"We can't just stand aside," Monty declared.

"Fine, fine, _fine_!" Gabe gave in.

"So the plan is…?" Jim asked.

"Keep annoying the hell out of everyone until they send us back," Dum-Dum declared triumphantly. "And keep our plans to ourselves."

"Make a list of events we can change for the better," Gabe suggested.

"Discreetly," Jim said. He nodded to the showers, the water still providing the white noise that they hoped kept Friday from eavesdropping.

Frenchie commented something.

"What the hell did he say?" Dum-Dum demanded.

Gabe sighed and translated, "He said, 'The Captain and the Sergeant will not be able to be together as they are now. We may kill something beautiful.' He's right, you know. I won't be able to ride at the front of bus or eat with you guys at a diner. Jim'll be looking at worse when we go home. Monty – " 

Monty held up his hand to stop Gabe. Then he straightened his shoulders. "I had someone, you know. He died in the Blitz. Perhaps… Perhaps without Hydra everywhere that will be accepted sooner too."

Maybe Monty could have said that somewhere other than a locker room with all of them wrapped in towels and nothing more!? Dum-Dum tried not to twitch or step back. No one else did. None of the others gave Monty the side-eye. Aw hell.

He felt sort of stupid, like he _was_ dumb, that he hadn't caught on sooner. But that was the thing, wasn't it? Everyone knew there were men like _that_. Ladies too. No harm to it that Dum-Dum had ever figured, but there were laws, and it was best to just never say anything about it. If Monty had had a sweetheart, he could have said something, showed his grief, and everyone would have understood. But he'd had to bite it all back, swallow it, and that was a damn shame.

It was a damn shame for anyone who had to go through that. Dum-Dum knew Cap, he knew Sarge and now James, and he knew Monty. Every one of them better men – in the sense of bravery, brains, and honor – than the fools who preached against 'inverts' and the rest of that Bible malarkey. (Dum-Dum was no Bible reader, but he knew words could be twisted to argue anything. He took it all with a grain of salt. Or a whole truck load.) And if they were _that_ way and good, why, then he had no damn reason to think anyone else like that wasn't.

Monty wasn't just another soldier, he was a friend.

Dum-Dum didn't think about it. He just reached over and squeezed Monty's shoulder. They'd go back and, by God, they'd find ways to make things better sooner in that way too. There was more to fixing the future than shooting guns, but Dum-Dum knew they could do it.

Frenchie patted Monty's back and said, " _Love will conquer all."_

"What?" Jim demanded.

Gabe translated.

"Naw," Dum-Dum said. " _We'll_ conquer all."

They'd get Steve and Sarge back and clue in Peggy Carter and there wouldn't be anyone or anything that could stop them.

~

~*~

~

"Steve," Pepper greeted him. She was as immaculately elegant as always. Pepper was fascinating to Steve. She, even more than James, managed to live with something that made her superhuman, without giving up normality. Extremis would have broken most people or driven them into something like Tony's 'privatizing world peace'. Instead, Pepper returned to her life as smoothly as a dolphin diving back into the ocean. "I was wondering if I could co-opt you today?"

"I was actually on my way to give James and Darcy a break," he said. "I'm sorry I've been… less than present since this mess started."

"It's all right. We're your friends. We can stand up when you need to take a break. Plus, you were on a mission."

"I don't like to take advantage."

"You don't," she reassured him kindly. "But if you wanted to make my life a little easier, maybe you'd like to come with me to the new pediatrics ward this afternoon? The children would be over the moon to get a visit from Captain America."

"Tony isn't coming?" Tony usually had a ball showing off for kids, then came back, and dived into the lab with a dozen new ideas for ways to improve everything he'd seen. SI had dozens of new patents in the medical realm and Tony Stark had a lot of fans among doctors and nurses he'd never meet.

"Busy in the back-up lab with Bruce and James," Pepper said.

Steve winced, thinking of the damage he'd heard the Commandos caused to the old lab.

"I should – "

"Why not bring your friends?" 

Steve gaped at her. Bring the Commandos to a pediatric ward? Had Pepper lost her mind? SI events were always covered by the press. It'd be as good as pointing neon arrows at the Commandos. Hydra would have to be blind to ignore that.

Pepper seemed to read his mind – or his face, at least. "It's not a publicity event. Press are barred from the hospital."

"What about the kids and their parents? They all have smartphones. We'll be all over Youtube and Instagram in minutes."

"Which isn't a problem if you hide in plain sight." 

Steve whirled around and narrowed his eyes at Darcy, who was standing behind them, leaning against the door jamb, blowing a large blue gum bubble. He could smell the artificial flavouring all the way from where she was and wondered how he hadn't heard her arrive.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. James taught me the fine art of sneaking up on people." She winked at Pepper. "He also asked me to check if you were running away again."

"I'm not – "

"Yeah, yeah." Darcy waved her hand. "So, Pep, do you still have the guy's uniforms?"

"Cleaned and fixed, yes."

"Perfect."

"Steve, you have your old one, right? Or a replica at least?"

Steve nodded, unsure where she was going.

"Awesome. Then this party can get started."

"Darcy –"

"And I'll be ready to read all the comments all over social media about the amazing Howling Commando cosplayers SI found for the kids."

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

"Brilliant, right?" Darcy high-fived Pepper.

It … was. The Commandos, barring James, were the best men he knew. They wouldn't do anything to harm the kids and maybe seeing them might calm the guys down, remind them of what and whom they were really fighting the war for then and even now.

Also, it would give James a break and maybe even make up a little for Dernier blowing up Tony's lab. Which was just a little impressive, considering he'd managed an explosion bigger than most of Tony's. The last time Tony's lab had been destroyed so thoroughly, it had been when they pulled the explosives from James' skeleton.

"Okay," Steve said slowly. He smiled, feeling more enthusiastic as he thought about it. "Why not?"

Pepper's smile was almost as glorious as James' was.

~*~

It turned out to be a great outing. While Tony hadn't been free to come along, he had had a special 'mystery' box of goodies put together for every child. There was little Tony liked better than showering people with gifts – except for Pepper, technology, thumbing his nose at politicians, making Fury grind his teeth audibly – and his gifts for the kids were carefully calibrated. He had chosen everything with the children's physical abilities, likes and dislikes in mind. No child got something generic or that they were too sick to enjoy.

The Commandos fell in with a will, entertaining the kids with voices and games, embarrassing stories about Steve and Bucky and themselves as kids and in the war. 

"And then, Captain America had his shield and I had my trusty bowler – " Dum-Dum said, tipping the hat jauntily for the tiny little boy he was talking to, " – but the rest of them had to use leaves." The little boy giggled, a high, piping sound of delight. Dum-Dum finished, "And that's why you never go skinny-dipping without making sure you can find your clothes afterward!"

With five of them, plus Steve and Pepper, no one got shorted on attention or time. The kids got kicks out of explaining the fancy electronic toys to the Commandos, probably as much as they would have geeking out with Tony.

The happy shrieks and bright smiles melted away Steve's worries and he spent the afternoon answering questions, demonstrating feats of strength, and reassuring the kids that while they were sick, they could get well and have normal – better than normal – lives, confiding how he'd been sick all through his childhood, stuck in bed, missing school, missing all his friends – except Bucky, who was always there – and sure he would be dead before he even grew up.

"But I did, because I kept fighting, 'cause no matter what, I wasn't going to let my body stop me," he told one girl, who had her leg amputated thanks to cancer. She looked so fragile, Steve was almost afraid to touch her. She had a light in her eyes, though, that he recognized, a fire that just needed fanning. He didn't want to tell her to rely on faith or God or her family, because he didn't know her circumstances, but he figured it was safe enough to tell her she was strong enough to pull through. Believing in herself couldn't hurt.

"I wanted to be a gymnast," she said sadly.

"You can be the best one-legged gymnast in the world," Steve said, already planning on going to Tony and getting this kid the civilian equivalent of James' arm for her leg. "And you'll be even more impressive than all the lazy cusses who have use two legs."

"Maybe," she said. He decided not to press further. Prosthesis for kids were problematical because they had to be fitted so precisely and kids were constantly changing as they grew. He remembered how Bucky had shot up two inches in six months once to his ma's dismay; there had only been so far she could let down his pants. Bucky had ended up with his dad's oldest pants billowing around his lanky lower limbs, virtually belted twice around his waist and hemmed up. Missus Barnes had altered Bucky's old pants for Steve since the rest of the Barnes siblings were girls.

They didn't leave until the kids began flagging with exhaustion and the nurses began chivvying the mobile ones back to the beds. Steve watched the Commandos with deep pride as each of them bid every child a separate good-bye. Morita spent ten minutes searching the halls and rooms until he found one boy's toy that had been misplaced, returning with it held aloft, and declaring, "Mission accomplished, Commander," as he tucked the object – some sort of electronic remote with a screen attached – into the side of the kid's bed, where he could reach it later.

Pepper was occupied speaking to a doctor and, judging from their clothes, several administrators – no nurse or doctor ever wore heels or brogues like those – and Steve had a brief moment alone.

From beside him, a Latina nurse half his height and twice his width and with three times Steve's patience and compassion, sighed, but she was smiling. She had on powder pink scrubs with white kittens and a long-sleeved red thermal top underneath. Her shoes were thick-soled with high-tops to support her ankles, because nurses spent their days on their feet.

"They're going to be cranky tired all of tomorrow," she said.

"I'm sorry," Steve replied automatically, frowning, wondering if they'd messed up and exhausted the kids too much.

She shook her head. "Better cranky from being happy and tired than sad. A little excitement lets them be kids again. We can deal."

"I'd love to come back again. I think Miss Potts might set up a schedule."

"That would be marvelous, because there's always new kids coming onto the ward."

She didn't say the corollary, that there were always kids leaving the ward, not always cured.  
"You could bring any of the other Avengers, too." She glanced up at him. "Not that these guys weren't fantastic. I don't know where you found a group of Howling Commandos cosplayers, but they hit the ball out of the park."


	12. DAY TWELVE

DAY TWELVE

Pepper approached him a week before Christmas with the idea of a bake sale for charity.

"A bake sale?"

"That's what I believe I said."

"As in, us, baking things." Steve frowned. It was a nice idea, but, really, baking? He had a talent to burn water if James wasn't around to tell him what to do and he had a feeling that James wasn't going to want to bake all of Steve's cookies either.

Pepper ignored his frown and smiled her "I know I'll get you to play along" smile. "Yes. Maybe you can bring your old team along. They were a huge hit with the kids at the hospital."

"They also just came from 1945. I don't even know if they can do anything in the kitchen besides sit there and comment. And blow up microwaves." Steve shuddered to think what Dernier would do with a convection oven. Fires of hell. And Gabe would probably sing Christmas songs until James gagged him and hung him out the window on the 15th storey. He didn't even want to think about what the others would do.

"I guess if they're incompetent, you need some experts to help you." Tony ambled into the kitchen, all confident swagger. He slung his arm around Pepper's waist. "Right, dear?"

"And who would that be?"

Tony pressed his right hand over his heart. "You wound me."

"I also know your attempts at baking."

"You loved my quiche."

"Tony, your quiche could have been used as a bullet in a medieval cannon and it would have crumbled the tower."

Steve bit back on a snicker. That sounded a lot like his own attempts at baking. Nice to know that there were things even Tony wasn't good at.

Since he was having a good morning, he decided to come to Tony's rescue, though. "Pepper, I think the only one who is even marginally okay at baking around here is James."

"Hey!" Sam, who had walked into the common room, looking sleepy and in dire need of coffee, sounded offended.

Steve raised his hands. "Okay, and you." Though, really, Alisha's baked goods were so much better than Sam's. He had enough self-preservation not to say that out loud, however.

"Marginally okay," Tony echoed. "Are you sure you want him to hear that?"

Steve startled as the familiar weight of a metal arm settled around his waist. "I know his strengths." Damn, James was too cat-footed. "Sweet talking isn't one of them."

James quelled his protest with just one look.

"So what is it I hear about baking? Is this a contest?"

Steve shook his head, about to protest that no, it certainly, most definitely –

"Yes!" Tony said. He sounded gleeful. Which was never, ever good.

"You're on, Iron Chef," Sam said.

Oh, God. That couldn't end well.

"We're in," James volunteered for both of them. "Aren't we, Steve?" 

His look clearly communicated 'don't you dare disagree', so Steve nodded. He'd learned not to be a complete idiot. Most of the time.

"This isn't quite what I had in mind, but if it gets me cookies we can sell, I'm fine with it."

Clint slunk around the corner to the common room kitchen. "Cookies?"

"You're not baking!" Pepper immediately said. "You're barred from the kitchen for life. So," she turned and pointed her index finger at Steve, "is your friend Dernier."

Clint shrugged. When Pepper didn't look, he gave Steve a wink. If you do a job badly enough, no one asks you to do it again, he'd said before he set the kitchen on fire trying to deep fry last year's Thanksgiving Turkey. That strategy seemed to work.

A shadow moved into the kitchen. 

"Morning, Bruce," Pepper greeted.

"Hngh," Bruce answered. His hair stood in wild curls that looked unhappy and he moved slow, in the restrained and careful way that indicated a headache, or, if he thought of Tony, Clint or Sam, a hangover.

"Bruce, my man!" Tony said.

"Quiet," Bruce begged. "Quiet, please. My head."

James moved away from Steve and into the kitchen to start water for tea. He had forgiven Bruce his smoothies a long time ago and they'd found common ground over tea.

"What happened?" Tony wanted to know. "Out on a bender? And you didn't take me with you?"

Bruce groaned and ran his hand through his hair. "If only it had been that."

"I think Bruce and Nat finally had a talk," Clint piped up from the couch. He slurped his coffee, hiding a grin.

"How do you only have a headache and not limbs missing?" Sam asked.

Bruce groaned again and rested his forehead against the marble counter. "Vodka."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea right now," Pepper cautioned.

"Not now!" Bruce raised his head again and looked green – a different, paler, sicklier green than the big guy. "Last night."

"Oh man," James murmured. He'd finished making the ginger tea, poured Bruce a delicate cup and pushed it over the smooth surface of the counter. "My sympathies."

Pepper looked like she wanted to wrap Bruce in a blanket. "I think there's some lemon in the fridge, let me have a look."

She opened the fridge. Froze. Closed it again. Turned, stony-faced. Then: " _Antony Edward Stark_."

Pepper's voice, though low, was dangerous enough it cut through the room like a trebuchet bullet going through a castle wall. (What, he'd just watched a documentary on medieval weaponry before James had come to take him to bed.)

By the window, Tony jumped. Bruce ducked back behind the other side of the kitchen counter. Steve felt the need to clutch a throw pillow. Even Clint's grin slipped. 

"Yes, light of my life?"

"Don't give me that bullshit."

"I know it's hard to believe, but I honestly have no idea what I did this time."

"The fridge." Pepper pointed behind her as though the refrigerator had personally offended her. "I found your stash."

"My what? Dum-E, didn't you hide the Christmas presents?"

"I'm not talking about the next reiteration of a giant blow-up bunny and you know it."

Tony raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Darling. Honeypie. Sugarmuffin."

Pepper glared.

"Most intelligent of all women out there. Best CEO in the world."

From the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Bruce looking between Pepper and Tony like he was watching a gruelling, about-to-turn-violent tennis match. Steve wasn't sure whose side Hulk would pick, but he had a feeling that Tony might end up on his own. Then again, with the headache, the Hulk might smash everything and everyone just to have some quiet.

"That's better, but it still doesn't get you out of the doghouse."

"Would you be so kind as to tell me what I have _done? This_ time."

"Energy drinks, Anthony."

Oh. _Oh_. Tony didn't. He wouldn't. Pepper had banned them from the tower two years ago after Tony had crashed hard, skirting close to a heart attack after several energy-drink aided all-nighters.

"What?" Tony looked genuinely confused.

"There's an assortment of fifteen different kinds of energy drinks in the common room refrigerator. Right here. In _this_ refrigerator."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Pep."

"Don't Pep me." Pepper had her hands on her hips and was glaring at Tony. Pepper's skin – the parts that were not covered by skirt and a short-sleeved top – had taken on a golden glow. Tony seemed to notice it as well; a drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

Their staring contest was interrupted by the elevator dinging and the Howlies spilling out in a laughing tumble. Steve tried in vain to gesture to them to go back.

"Hey, guys, there's a party?" Gabe asked, unaware of the tension in the room. "How come no one invited us?"

"It's not a party," Tony replied. "I'm being framed."

"Framed? Really? You're going with that?" Pepper's sarcasm and fury weren't dialling down at all. Steve was a little concerned.

"I'm not stupid enough to keep something like that in the refrigerator, Pepper, even if I was stupid enough to still drink it," Tony said. He glanced around the room, paused on Steve and seemed to dismiss him, and then his shoulders sank. "Whichever one of you thought this was funny? It's not."

Steve didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted that Tony didn't think he would prank him like that. It was pretty low and at the same time lame.

"Hey, not me," Clint said. "I've seen you three days into drinking that shit. It's not pretty."

"Not funny, either," Sam added. He folded his arms and gave Clint a disapproving look, but Steve didn't think Clint was lying. He might like pranking Tony, but not angering Pepper, and was, like all of the Avengers in residence, aware of her stance on energy drinks.

James tipped his head, then turned his gaze on the Commandos, stopping with Gabe. He stared at him without speaking. Gabe took a step back instinctively; James had the Medusa-glare on full strength. Anyone unlucky enough to meet his eyes would turn to stone.

At least it felt like that. Steve sympathized with Tony; he tried to avoid really angering James for exactly the same reasons Tony didn't want to infuriate Pepper. Love and fear.

Gabe gulped.

"Mouth dry, Jones?" James asked.

"Now that you mention it."

Everyone else had turned their attention to James and Gabe.

"Maybe you'd like a drink."

"P-possibly."

"You look tired," James observed.

"Oh, not really – "

Steve could guess now. The energy drinks had been brought in by the Commandos, who were ignorant of Pepper's edict against them. He could see the others coming to same conclusion. 

"You didn't – " Steve started to say. He wanted to interrupt the way this seemed to be going. It had been an innocent mistake.

"I think he needs something to energize him," James interrupted. "A nice cold drink. A boost."

Gabe straightened his shoulders. "Why not?"

"I bet you've got some in the refrigerator."

Monty stepped forward. "You did tell us to keep what we liked in the kitchen."

"Argh," Pepper muttered. "The Monster and Red Bull in there are _yours_?"

"See, Pepprecious?" Tony crowed.

"You shut up."

"They're mine, ma'am," Gabe confirmed.

"Fine," she snapped. "Tony, if I suspect you've drunk even one of them – "

"I wouldn't, I like my smoothies," he assured her.

Pepper glared at Gabe and then the rest of the Commandos. "There are any number of things that taste better and are better for you than energy drinks." With that she swept out.

"Damn," Clint commented, "I thought she was going to set Tony on fire."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "And you'd have used me to make popcorn."

"Clint isn't allowed to make popcorn," Natasha said as she swept in. 

"Wise choice," Tony said. Proving he was a genius, he left it at that and followed Pepper out.

"Get rid of the energy drinks," James told Gabe. "I suppose Darcy was the one who helped you get them."

"Uhm, maybe."

"Friday, let Darcy know that if she does that again I will shave her head, paint it orange and make her wear maternity knit pants and I Love Trump sweatshirts for a year," James instructed.

Somewhere nearby Darcy's voice squeaked and shrieked, "No, no, no, not that, never that. I'll be good!"

James looked satisfied and fed up at the same time. He glanced over at Steve. "Feel like taking a nap with me?"

"Is that a euphemism?" Clint wondered. "Because – "

"You'll never know," Steve told him and nodded to James to head for the door. A nap in James' quarters, with the doors locked against Avengers and Commandos, sounded great.

Some euphemism did too.


	13. DAY THIRTEEN

DAY THIRTEEN

"Bruce, what the hell is that recipe?"

Bruce looked up from where he was weighing flour. "Nan Khatai."

"Bless you."

Steve didn't resist rolling his eyes. Bruce had made Nan Khatai before, though, to be fair, not when Clint was around. "It's an Indian cookie, usually made for Diwali."

"Thank you, Mr. Wikipedia," Tony commented from the second kitchen island. They'd relocated to the much bigger staff kitchen for their baking adventures. And adventures they were going to be, because Pepper had demanded they each bake something. Steve still wondered if she knew what she was asking for. 

Tony had started by 'fixing' one of the ovens to "Provide the best cookies ever." Vision was standing frozen, trying to sift through millions of recipes all over the internet. Nat had disappeared, Clint was trying to copy whatever other people were doing, and Steve's own attempts at recreating his mother's oatmeal cookies were failing miserably. The only competent people in the kitchen were James, Sam, and Bruce – and they had stated from the beginning that they were not going to do the baking for everyone too inept to do so on their own. Steve was still somewhat hurt that James had given him a pointed look.

Clint was still holding the recipe. "It's intelligible."

James looked over Clint's shoulder at the recipe. "It's fine. Just in Hindi."

"How much suji?" Bruce asked.

"Thirty grams."

"Metric?" Sam asked, sounding offended. His apron was dusted with cocoa. "Seriously, guys. Have some pride."

"Ignore them," James said and pulled a rubber glove over his metal hand. When he'd started baking, Tony had spent forever trying to clean the dough from between the plates of the arm. After the second time, he'd threatened to never let James set foot inside his lab again if he didn't use rubber gloves in the kitchen.

"How come your old team isn't here, anyway?"

Steve let the metal measuring cup sink, glad for the distraction. "You wouldn't want them near a kitchen, trust me."

Behind him, James mumbled something too soft for even Steve to understand.

"They've gone ahead with Pepper and Darcy to entertain the kids some more. I think they're trying to make up for the energy drinks."

"I still think that it was a bad idea to have the bake sale tonight. She could have given us a warning."

"You all would have found excuses if she'd set it for another day," Natasha's voice came over the speakers.

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bruce flinch.

"Where the hell are you, anyway?" Clint asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The grin in her voice was audible.

"So if you're not here, when will you be baking your cookies?" Sam asked. "You're one of us, you don' get off the hook."

"Mine are already in place."

Clint's forehead creased. "In place?"

"At the hospital, moron." The insult was affectionate rather than mean and Clint grinned, knowing it.

"You knew ahead of time?" Now Tony sounded outraged. "Favouritism! Blatant favouritism! From _my_ fiancé!"

"Superior communication skills." A pause, then: "Steve, I know that Clint just stuck his tongue out at me. Cuff him across the back of the head for me, please?"

Clint dodged before Steve's half-hearted blow could connect.

James grinned, shook his head and added cubes of butter to his flour mixtures.

"Did you call for a reason other than preening?"

"Now that you're asking … Pepper wants you to know that we'll start at five p.m., so the parents with smaller kids still have a chance to attend."

"Five!" Something clattered and Tony's head appeared over the kitchen island. "That only leaves us five hours!"

"Nothing like a deadline to get you moving, right?"

~*~

"You're actually done?" James asked. He was still busy filling his cookies with jam. Decorating the top parts had taken longer than he'd expected, especially with those tiny nonpareilles, but he wanted his cookies to look perfect. It was worth the time.

Steve had worked a lot more smoothly than he'd expected. He stood with a cookie sheet of vaguely misshapen oatmeal cookies which he swore were his mother's recipe, but which James knew came off a box of oats.

He opened his hand in a come - hither gesture. "Quality testing." It was a bad idea, he knew it, but it was better him than the kids. He couldn't inflict Steve's baking on innocent kids and their parents.

Steve handed him one with a little bow. In hindsight, Steve's lack of questions during the mixing stage of the dough should have made James suspicious, but he'd been distracted by having to ban Clint from the kitchen, after he'd eaten fifteen of Bruce's twenty Indian cookies and had tried stealing some of the cupcakes James had made earlier too. James had come close to hanging Clint out the window by his feet. The Arm could have taken the strain. It would have been worth it, but he'd been too busy trying to figure out how to calm down Bruce and bake more cookies in time.

A little off his game, James bit into the cookie … and spit it right back out.

"Barnes!" Tony shouted. "Did you pick up manners from the oldie band?"

Steve looked crestfallen. "That bad?"

James grabbed a glass of water, rinsed his mouth and spit into the sink. "If you like your cookies salty, they're perfect."

That meant he now had to try and bake something for Steve as well unless he wanted Steve of all people to go cookie-less. God, he should have known from the start. Nothing Steve ever touched in the kitchen turned out well. James loved him, but sometimes he wondered if it was a clever plan to make James do all the cooking. What was it in the Calvin and Hobbes comic books that Wanda loved? If you do something badly enough, you won't get asked to do it again.

Next time, he'd give Steve charcoals and paper and tell him to draw them baking, but not actually set foot in the kitchen. It'd be easier on his nerves.

He had about an hour left and three ovens. He could make it in half an hour if he used them all and no other catastrophes happened.

That, of course, was the moment the oven Tony had been working on exploded.

The smoke alarm screeched. The sprinklers activated, making everyone look like half-drowned cats. They also soaked the cookies that weren't packed already.

James closed his eyes and counted to ten. Fighting the urge to growl, he grabbed Bruce (who squeaked) and pulled him along.

"Common room kitchen. Now." He glared at Tony and Steve. "You two stay here and don't dream of coming near until I'm done. Fix Vision. Clean up. Something."

"Ah," Sam began.

"Call your mom," James ordered. "We need backup."

~*~

Natasha smirked inside, where no one could see, as she watched Clint run back and forth at Pepper and Darcy's direction. It served him right. He'd known those cookies were meant for the hospital fund raiser bake sale. Even filching one would have been bad, but he'd wiped out the three quarters of Bruces' cookies.

Now James was stuck back at the Tower kitchen with Bruce and Sam, re-creating cookies to replace the ones Clint consumed and cooking something to replace whatever atrocity Steve had inflicted on innocent flour, sugar and butter this time.

The food the Red Room had fed its young trainees had not been tasty by any means, but it had been four-star Michelin in comparison to what Steve could do. Steve was the very definition of a bad cook: someone who could take good basic ingredients and render them inedible.

Possibly poisonous.

Clint would eat week old egg salad, pizza with green fuzz growing on it, and had on an occasion Natasha witnessed herself, a fried cockroach on a bet. Clint would not eat anything Steve touched unless it was still sealed in the package.

The extraordinary aspect was that Steve's cooking had grown worse as he experimented with ingredients that hadn't been available during the Depression or tried to recreate his mother's recipes.

Wanda had confided that she thought it highly likely Steve's sainted mother had been a terrible cook. James couldn't tell them. James cleverly avoided having to eat Steve's inedible efforts by claiming a still delicate digestive system. 

It was a valid tactic. Clint once escaped from a containment cell by projectile vomiting onto a control pad that shorted out and opened the doors.

Natasha tried to be a little more in control of her missions. Thus, she and Wanda had cooked their contributions in the industrial kitchens thirteen floors down from the Avenger's common floor, sealed and delivered them to Pepper early in the morning. They'd just been stepping into the elevator to leave for the hospital when James discovered Clint in Bruce's cookies.

Since Clint was now playing pack mule, James hadn't dropped him headfirst from Tony's penthouse landing pad. He hadn't spotted her or Wanda either. She was going to taunt him about that later. She didn't expect anyone – except James – to notice her when she didn't want to be seen, but Wanda's field craft had improved by leaps and bounds since Natasha started working with her. 

For an instant, Natasha's lips folded tight. She didn't care for the way Steve and the rest of the Avengers treated Wanda. She didn't put up with it herself and she didn't want Wanda to do so either. Wanda wasn't an unexploded, unstable bomb or a helpless child in need of paternal oversight. She was quite possibly the most powerful member of the Avengers.

Of course, Wanda was dangerous. They were all dangerous. Pepper was dangerous. Darcy was dangerous – she'd flattened Thor with a Taser and regularly thought and talked rings around men who thought she was nothing more than an attractive bosom on legs.

The way to control the dangers Wanda could pose wasn't to immure her like a damsel in a tower, though. It was to teach her to use her powers and control them. Steve was fine with that, even enthusiastic about training Wanda at home and on missions.

But Natasha believed teaching Wanda how to be effective without using her powers was just as important. Natasha didn't want Wanda to ever be in a situation where she was helpless because she didn't have her powers.

Natasha was never helpless.

She knew Steve and Bruce didn't approve of everything she was teaching Wanda, field craft, spy craft, trade craft, the skills of a Black Widow, the tricks and secrets of SHIELD and all the other spy agencies. She just didn't care. She didn't intend to recreate the Red Room and subject Wanda to that. But the way she'd learned her skills wasn't a reason to not share them with Wanda. In a better way.

Bruce didn't have the gall to say anything to her and James ran interference every time Steve got that constipated look on his face and opened his mouth to object to one of Natasha and Wanda's outings. James loved Steve, something Natasha found extraordinary, but he often didn't agree with him. It could be quite funny, because Steve would fight with the rest of them, sometimes just because he was unconsciously contrary, but he stumbled and stuttered when James didn't side with him.

"We should have made him wear an elf costume," Wanda commented, nodding toward Clint. She had on one of Natasha's blond wigs and the low, orthopedic white shoes favored by nurses and orderlies. In the context of the hospital environs, she'd become invisible. She looked like she was supposed to be there, so no one looked at her twice. Not even Clint, who had walked by them twice now, carrying containers of cookies.

Wanda had done it without using her powers. A spike of pride warmed Natasha.

The Margaret C. Sousa Patient and Guests Garden – established and funded by personal contributions from Steven G. Rogers, Anthony Stark, and Nicholas Fury in addition to the Maria Stark Foundation – was at its very best. Green grass lawns, smooth winding paths designed for wheelchairs and crutches, comfortable benches located at intervals that offered privacy and rest, just enough shade trees, and an explosion of flowers that delighted the eye and the nose. Tables had been set up at the courtyard near the hospital foyer. Plates of samples of the cookies were set out for admiration and sampling. Clint was setting up the chairs for the auction. Natasha watched him detour toward the tables only to have his fingers whacked by Darcy, who had a yoyo she was playing with and had used it to perfect effect. Clint snatched his hand back with a yelp, giving Darcy a wounded look, and sucking on the stinging knuckles.

"Stay away from the cookies, Barton," Darcy warned him. "I won't hesitate to Taser you. And if you screw this up? Pepper will light the kind of fire in your shorts you won't like at all."

Beside Natasha, Wanda stifled a giggle, while Clint hurried away, the human equivalent of a dog with its tail tucked in shame and alarm.

Darcy looked over at them and winked.

Huh. To everyone else, Natasha and Wanda were just a pair of tired nurses taking a break to watch the set up, but Darcy had spotted them. She might need to start training her too, that showed a real talent for the game.

The scent of vanilla and sugar drifted toward them from the tables and Wanda sighed. "I should have made an extra batch of Kifle for myself. And Vanilice."

Natasha shrugged. She had no personal memories of childhood baked goods. Red Room food had been institutional glop, formulated to provide the proper amount of nutrition for growth and training. She hadn't had anything that tasted nice until they began training her to impersonate the rich and privileged of the West. There were quizzes and tests after each 'meal'. She never learned to associate food with comfort the way everyone else did.

She was an expert cook though and as a result had no difficulty whipping up several different specialty cookies this morning. The ones filled with a fig puree were on display already.

"We can bake some more tomorrow," she told Wanda.

"I will never get used to that," Wanda remarked. "Just having all the supplies to make anything."

Natasha blinked slowly. "Don't get used to it," she advised.

"Because Stark could take it away?"

"No, though that is a factor. I meant don't stop appreciating it." It was a small pleasure, to always have enough, to be able to eat exactly what you wanted – or perhaps it was a large one – but such things had to be treasured; they were often the difference between bearable and unendurable in life.

They were both distracted as the Howling Commandos arrived, each dressed as one of Santa's elves, since they would be going up to the pediatrics ward after the auction. Natasha surreptitiously pulled out her phone and began recording them, because she was sure there would come a day she needed to cheer herself up, and Dum-Dum Dugan in green velvet, with white faux fur trim, red tights and curly-toed slippers with bells on them, but still rocking his bowler hat and mustache, could make an Anchorite giggle. They really should have made Clint dress up as well.

The Commandos had whined and protested the costumes until Pepper used the power of Pepper to 'look' them into agreeing. She'd also told them that there would be none of the shenanigans they'd been using to torture James, who was very much done with them at this point. Really, they should have saved that for Steve, who remembered them. James had come to the conclusion they were all unrepentant assholes.

They'd all come through when it came to baking cookies for the kids, though. They were all better cooks than Steve too, thank God. Dernier had made madeleines, then assisted Morita with some fancy molecular gastronomy inspired recreation of something he'd seen on Tumblr. Shockingly, it turned out, and a test batch had proved the confections tasted as extraordinary as they looked. 

Natasha would never admit it, but she was impressed.

Dugan had made shortbreads, Falsworth had defaulted to sugar cookies, but decorated them with a dab hand, and Jones had made spice cookies. They each carried in a tub filled with their efforts and began arranging them for viewing. There was some elbowing and competitive shit talk over whose cookies were best and which would sell for the most money, but they kept it to themselves.

"It's a shame some of the kids the bake sale is to benefit can't have the sweets," Wanda said.

"I think Tony hired a chef to consult with the hospital nutritionist and fix something for the kids that won't clash with their treatments," Natasha told her. Tony was surprisingly soft-hearted, even though he wasn't particularly kid-friendly. Any more than she was, she admitted. He certainly differed from most rich men in one respect: Tony was the very opposite of miserly. Show him a problem that could be solved with money and he would shovel it out of his accounts without hesitation, not to buy approval, but because he wanted to help.

Although he did his best to make sure no one realized that. Natasha respected that. There were too many people who saw compassion and kindness as weaknesses to exploited. She'd worked too hard to not be vulnerable to give herself away like that and she had that in common with Tony.

Bruce didn't get it. She sighed silently and reminded herself to not be bitter. She'd thought… Well, she'd thought wrong. Sometimes Bruce was stunningly self-absorbed on a level that put even Tony to shame. He wasn't the only person with a monster inside, the only one who fought to keep that monster inside and not inflict that rage on the world that wounded them. 

She knew herself too well to dismiss the manipulative aspect of their embryo relationship. She couldn't fight Hulk. Couldn't kill him. So she needed to seduce him or Bruce at least. If Bruce loved her, she would be safe from the Hulk. It wasn't a nice realization, but Natasha had never fooled herself she was nice.

Bruce, though, Bruce spent a lot of time fooling himself, and when Natasha had acted in a way that didn't fit his fantasy, he'd felt betrayed.

And left, not just her, but the Avengers, who were his friends.

These days, now that he was back, thanks to Thor and Loki and Valkyrie, Natasha found she liked Hulk better than Bruce. Hulk was, at the very least, the most honest of them all.

She checked the time. Bruce and the rest of them should have arrived already. They were probably scrambling to get done what they would have long finished if not for Clint. James was likely fuming; he did not like being late. It was endearing. Steve thought it was about being prompt and courteous; Natasha knew James just wanted to check any venue for threats and exits ahead of time. Steve preferred to ignore what James could do and had even lobbied to have him use a different code name, back when he thought James would be joining the Avengers officially.

James had been obdurate. He was the Winter Soldier and he wasn't an Avenger. He'd help them out in a bad spot, but only occasionally. Natasha got it. James had earned the right to be called Winter Soldier, won his skills through pain and horror and seventy years of icy hell: the Winter Soldier belonged to no one but him, certainly not those hyped Hydra killers who had been in cryo in Siberia. It was the same for Natasha. Black Widow might be what the Red Room named her, but she'd taken that title and it wasn't just hers, it was _her_.

She glanced at Wanda. Maybe someday Wanda would own Scarlet Witch the same way. Not yet, though.

Darcy began berating Falsworth for something. Pepper was talking with the hospital's director. 

Two men were setting up the sound system for the auction. Four more with a case were coming in from the far side of the courtyard. Natasha didn't narrow her eyes. She didn't tense. Didn't turn her head to watch them more closely. She was a tired nurse, gossiping with her friend while on break, planning to filch a sample cookie before she went back on duty. Scrubs were wonderful for obscuring the outline of a body and any interesting toys she cared to carry on her. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and through the loops that automatically tightened around her wrists, unfolding her Widow's Bites.

"Those aren't teamsters or roadies," Wanda remarked casually. "Their boots are all the same."

"Whatever is in the case," Natasha replied, "don't let them get it out and running."

They were all in their mid-twenties to thirties, overly fit, with short-cropped hair. They all had sunglasses over their eyes. One of them even had on shooter's gloves. Their clothes practically screamed 'fake civilian'. 

Clint placed another chair, then snagged a cookie from Jones' plate. Jones snagged his wrist. Clint whined and nattered something. Jones let him go. Clint shoved the cookie in his mouth whole. Jones called out to Falsworth, something that sounded like a joke, but Natasha saw all the Commandos come to subtle attention. A code phrase then, designed to sound like every day banter, to be used while they suspected they were under surveillance. Clint had alerted Jones.

Natasha already knew where all the entrances, exits, potential breach points in an overt insertion, and cover were in the roofed, interior portion of the Garden and the hospital. She'd spent the morning going over them with Wanda, teaching her how to see and catalog them as unconscious and automatically as she breathed.

Morita got to Darcy. Darcy made a production of rolling her eyes and announced, "I'll go see if the kitchen can spare some, but otherwise you'll have to do without." She stomped away with a dramatic huff. 

The one Natasha had identified as the leader watched Darcy pass through the automatic doors. Damn. It didn't look like he'd bought it. He tapped the throat mike disguised as a choker (along with radio earpieces disguised as earbuds) and gave an order.

Like some demented Chippendales Goes Evil cabaret show, the fake civilian workers all ripped off their flannel and denim disguises, slinging them to the side to reveal skintight, gray-black armored tac suits. Hydra's ridiculous octo-skull insignia adorned them. Natasha always wondered who came up with that. Did they just not have a good enough visual imagination to come up with something that matched the Greek myth or were they going for the branded logo look of a Lovecraftian pirate? She always meant to ask but never had the chance when she was busy kicking ass. She doubted these dolts would know anyway.

They pulled guns and fired them into the air. Glass from the overhead roof shattered and rained down, causing more screams than the guns had.

"Everyone down on the ground!" Leader Guy shouted.

Natasha went ahead and hit the Avengers emergency assemble app on her Starkphone. Friday would immediately begin monitoring and recording everything from it. Even if someone took out the obvious battery – Tony had rigged all their phones to have a second, secret, hidden one.

Events moved at speed from that point. Pepper rushed the hospital director through the nearest door, only to be caught by the shoulders by one of the attackers. The parents and others who had shown up early screamed and either hit the ground or tried to run. The Commandos kicked over the tables of cookies and took cover. (Not much cover, but at least they were metal tables.) Clint had disappeared, most likely up a tree, but possibly higher, to the hospital roof top, where he could provide long range cover.

"We want the so-called 'Howling Commandos'," Leader Guy announced. "Tell us where the Eye of Agamotto is or we kill everyone here and inside the hospital – " 

Natasha burned a hospital once. She'd never forgotten. She never would.

She was never letting anyone do that on her watch again.

"Now," she told Wanda.

Pepper had whipped around and was striding toward Leader Guy. The man who had caught hold of her was a pillar of screaming fire and rushing inside the hospital. Her hair had come loose from its chignon and was lifting on a hot wind, whipping like flames. Natasha blinked, because the tips of Pepper's hair _were_ on fire. Her skin had taken on a transparent glow, like lava rushed just beneath it and her eyes burned with orange-red flame. 

So when Tony said he'd fixed Pepper's Extremis, he hadn't meant he got rid of it. Points to him and Pepper for keeping that secret until now.

"I am so sick of people like you endangering innocent bystanders!" Pepper yelled. Several plants nearby her caught fire, along with a fallen white table cloth. The broken glass under her shoes was melting. Leader Guy's mouth had fallen open. He, like everyone else, was riveted by Pepper's incandescent fury.

Natasha knew there'd never be a better chance with such a great distraction.

Wanda's red magic coiled around the courtyard, snatching at guns and brushing against the attackers. Wherever they touched, the men screamed and dropped their weapons. The Commandos scrambled for them, arming themselves and immediately chivvying noncombatants into the hospital.

Natasha ran for the men Wanda hadn't reached yet. They were trying to open the large container. It probably held something that would knock everyone out or defuse powers or for all Natasha knew it held mechanical squids and party favors. Whatever it held, she didn't mean for them to get it out.

She vaulted over a table on its side – and Dernier intently converting something into an explosive - fired both Widow's bites while she was in the air, taking out two Hydra goons, landed in a crouch and used her momentum to roll under a hail of fire from the last man. She kicked his knees out from under him, did a kip to her feet, spun and rabbit punched the next one rushing at her before finishing the turn and using her heel to slam into the last one's temple as he tried to make it back to his feet.

At that point, Wanda took hold of the container with her powers and lifted it straight up into the air to just under the shattered roof and kept it hovering there, beyond anyone's reach.

The Commandos came out from cover and held the rest of the goons at gun point, armed elves causing a moment of cognitive dissonance that was interrupted as Leader Guy began screaming and batting at his groin and ass. Pepper's hair and temper were still on fire. She was standing with her arms folded over her chest, fists clenched, and Darcy's threat to Clint suddenly made sense as Leader Guy's pants lit on fire along with his shorts.

"Lucky he's at a hospital," Clint commented as he dropped out of a tree next to Natasha. He had a mouth full of cookie and a salvaged tub of them in one hand. "Cookie?"

Natasha took one and bit into it. Not as good as James', but not bad. 

She flexed her foot. The shoes were tremendously ugly and she was used to a harder sole that helped with breaking bones when she kicked, but they were oh so comfortable compared to stilettos and high-heeled boots.

She wondered if she could persuade Tony to invent a way to make high heels comfortable. Pepper would surely appreciate them.

The automatic doors into the hospital opened and Darcy strutted out, followed by four security people herding two more Hydra soldiers, zip-tied and looking woozy as hell. One was double-over, clutching his crotch and whimpering.

"They tried to come into the peds ward. I hit one over the head with something heavy – it was probably expensive – kneed him and Tasered the other one," Darcy explained. "Then these nice guys and gals – " she waved at the security people, " – tied them up for me."

Clint nodded and extended the tub. "That deserves a cookie."

Darcy looked delighted. "My hips will not thank you, but you are absolutely right," she said as she hunted through them for the perfect cookie. "Mmmmm, snickerdoodles."

A brilliant gold circle of light appeared in the center of the courtyard and expanded enough for a tall man with a cape, a weird green jewel hanging over his chest, and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard Tony would admire to step through. He held up his empty hands as the Commandos lifted their appropriated guns to aim at him.

"Hey, Doc Strange," one of the security people exclaimed. "Haven't seen you in a while. You're looking – uh, looking good." 

Natasha suspected the stumble was because the word she wanted to use was, hah, _strange_.

"I'm Dr. Stephen Strange," Strange introduced himself. He turned his attention to Pepper. "Ms. Potts. Miss Lewis, Miss Maximoff." He glanced at Natasha and Clint with a glint in his eye. "Romanova. Barton."

Annoying but well informed at least. He must have checked all of their files after the Hydra take-down and her info dump.

Leader Guy gasped and passed out. Pepper's hair settled to her shoulders, singing her blazer, but the heat stopped rolling off her. She swatted a cinder off her arm. "Damn it, I liked this suit."

With an overly flourished zig-zaggy wave of his hand, Strange created another shining circle and swept it over/around the container Wanda was keeping in the air. Natasha swore she saw darkness and stars through the circle's opening. Then it snapped closed and the container was gone.

"Much better," Strange said. "It can do no harm on the far side of the moon."

"Okay, that was pretty cool," Clint admitted.

Strange ignored him and addressed the Commandos. " _You're_ the ones who freed the Eye from Hydra." He shook his head with a sneer. "Bumbling idiots."

"Uh, what?" Dugan demanded angrily. 

Strange narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, isn't that the funny jewel that was powering the Hydra machine before we got zapped?" Morita asked. He pointed at the green jewel Strange wore.

Strange nodded to him with a fraction more respect. "The Eye of Agamotto. The Time Stone. It is what brought you and your companions forward in time. Luckily, Hydra did not understand its true power before it returned to its proper guardians."

Natasha eyed the gaudy thing skeptically. Time Stone? It made her think of the one Loki had possessed in his scepter, the one that cost them Jarvis not so long ago, and now gave Vision life. Thor called it the Mind Stone. Was this thing as powerful?

If it had brought the Commandos forward in time, they didn't want it falling into Hydra's hand. The last thing they needed was for Hydra to start time travelling. At least Strange didn't look like he'd be letting that happen.

"If it brought us here, then can you send us back?" Falsworth asked.

Strange appeared to flicker several times. The jewel flared bright green with each flicker. When it faded dark again, he absently touched his long fingers to it. "I could," he answered Falsworth, "but I must not."

"Why the hell not?" Dugan asked.

"You went back just now, didn't you?" Natasha said.

"I did," Strange admitted. "I thought that they belonged in the past, to preserve it, but they don't."

"What?" Morita and Dugan exclaimed together, then glanced at each other sheepishly.

"You all remain in the past," Strange explained. "The time stream has not been disturbed; there is no gap, no disruption to repair. I went back to before you encountered the Eye and found the answer."

"Well, what is it?" Falsworth demanded. He glared at Strange, who smirked back. Arrogant jackass, Natasha thought to herself. _Doctor_ Strange indeed. He certainly exuded Surgeon's Syndrome.

Strange straightened his shoulder and dusted at his cape, which suddenly had brick and mortar dust on them. "The facility you entered the day you came forward; do you know what its purpose was?"

"Some crazy Hydra weapons scheme, I suppose," Falsworth said.

"Yes. They did not understand the Eye's nature and were using it to power a cloning machine," Strange said. "They planned to create endless clones of their most fanatical soldiers."

"Good thing it got blown up," Morita remarked.

"Yes," Strange confirmed in a flat tone. "Because it was successful. It cloned all of you."

"Oh my God," Wanda murmured. 

"I don't get it," Clint grumbled. Natasha wanted to roll her eyes at him. He didn't need to play the amiable idiot _all_ of the time.

Strange sighed in obvious boredom with Clint.

"Quite simply, Hydra's machine cloned the remaining Howling Commandos. But one of them came into contact with the Time Stone and expressed some desire, perhaps to be reunited with Captain America, which the stone interpreted as a command to take them forward in time. The other Commandos continued on with their lives, unknowing and unaware, maintaining the timeline as it has always been. The Allied bombardment had damaged the containment spell holding the Eye in place and it was lost to Hydra as a result."

"If you sent us back, we'd just be in the way," Jones said, understanding dawning. 

Dernier added, _"Which of us are the originals?"_

"Precisely." Strange replied to Jones, then, turning toward Dernier, _"Think of the ones in the past, who are dead now, as the clones. That is the easiest way."_

Natasha supposed it didn't matter. They were identical but would have diverged immediately as experiences changed them from the default instant.

"Steve'll be happy," Clint said.

Natasha bit back on a grin: James wouldn't.

"You couldn't go back and keep us all from being cloned?" Dugan asked.

Strange looked around the Garden courtyard. "I won't risk interfering with the past when it could result in Hydra retaining control of the Eye," he stated. 

"No, that'd be a bad idea," Clint agreed.

"You'll just have to stay," Strange said. He swirled his hand, opening another circular rift to somewhere inside a house and strode through it. It snapped closed behind him, leaving no trace of itself or Strange or where he'd gone.

"So we're stuck here?" Falsworth asked no one.

"And we're stuck with you," Clint agreed.

"Could be worse," Morita opened.

Dernier was surveying the ground where many broken and crumbled cookies were scattered. He gave out a mournful sigh. _"They ruined all the cookies."_

Clint extended the tub. "Here, I saved some."

Dernier reached for one. 

A small portal opened; a hand darted through the glowing circle and snatched a cookie before disappearing. It appeared even Dr. Strange was not immune to the charms of butter and sugar.

Ironman's repulsors whined as Tony set down, settling delicately between the girders that had held up the glass roof. His helmet opened. 

"Looks like you had the party without us," he said. His dark eyes were bright with amusement as he looked around. 

Steve and James arrived seconds later, Steve skidding to a stop, shield in hand and ready to fight, while James followed him at a casual pace.

"Are you okay?" Knowing Steve, he probably ran to the hospital from Stark Tower, claiming that Tony was too slow. Natasha sometimes hated him for not even sounding out of breath.

Dugan replaced his now dusty Bowler on his head and beamed. "The ladies saved the day."

"We heard through Natasha's phone," Steve said. "Nice job."

Natasha looked at Wanda, Pepper and Darcy, the warmth of pride expanding in her. "Piece of cake."

"Speaking of which … Gimme a cookie," Tony made to grab for the tub Clint was holding.

Clint pulled the tub back. "What? No. You didn't help. Go make your own cookies."

Wanda levitated the cookie tub away from Clint and toward her and Darcy. "How much did you hear?" she asked.

James crossed his hands in front of his chest. "Steve stopped listening at the Tower and ran here. I put in my ear piece." 

Natasha smirked when her suspicion was confirmed. This meant Steve didn't really know what was going on. She wondered if James would have some fun with that. Probably not. James was usually serious and conscious of Steve's control issues.

"I got all of Strange's annoying monologue delivered right into my ear," James added.

"Great," Clint said, stuffing a handful of cookie crumbs from the table next to him in his mouth. "That means you get to explain to Steve."

"Explain what?" Steve asked. Oh, this was going to be fun. Steve was suspicious now, which meant he was like a dog with a bone.

James rubbed his flesh hand over his face, then said in a no-nonsense tone, "We're stuck with them. I mean, merry Christmas, Steve, your friends are staying for good."

Nat stifled a snicker. She thought that first part was more honest than the second.

Steve gaped. "Wh – what?" He squinted at James, then everyone else, looking for an explanation or a hint this was a nasty joke. 

Natasha kept her pokerface blank, though, and Clint had decided the three second rule didn't apply to cookies. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk's as he chewed on multiple cookies. God, he was such a pig, she thought fondly, it was a miracle the man hadn't died of food poisoning before he hit thirty.

Wanda smiled like a Madonna. "Dr. Strange finally got back to Tony."

"I – I need to sit down," Steve blurted.

"Where?" Tony asked with a full mouth, pointing at the wreckage around them. Somehow, he had managed to acquire some cookies too. She was going to have to talk to Wanda about blind spots.

Steve just dropped down, ass to the ground.

"That works," Tony remarked. "These are really good. Pep, did you get one?" He offered Pepper a slightly squashed cookie on the palm of one gauntlet.

"Get over here," James told the Commandos.

Once the Commandos had arrived and the rest of the Avengers had formed a circle around Steve and James , James repeated what Dr. Strange had told them.

"There's no paradox, there's no change in history, there's no problem, as long as we don't send them back," James explained, more to Steve than the others. "There were two sets, thanks to Hydra's meddling, and that might have been a problem. Time or the Eye of Agamotto fixed that by sending one set forward, to here and now, probably because you and I are here."

"Oh," Steve said quietly. He seemed more stunned than the Commandos or anyone else.

"The only way we could screw up history is if they went back," Tony added, oozing smugness because he'd been right all along. 

"So… ?"

"So now I'm going home and taking a nap," James said. "You can explain to NYPD what happened here."

Pepper finished her cookie. "Tony'll make another donation to cover the costs of repairing everything. Why don't the rest of you go inside and visit the kids since the bake auction is – obviously – cancelled?"

Steve seemed to have finally processed the news. He surged to his feet and grabbed Morita, the nearest Commando, in a rib-creaking hug. A moment later, the others joined in a group hug that almost made Natasha have warm feelings.

James strolled over to her and eyed her nurse disguise. "Nice shoes."

"They are," Natasha agreed.

She linked her arm through his and waved Wanda over to them. "Watch closely," Natasha told her. "James and I are going to show you how to exfiltrate a compromised location if you have cover and if you don't." She gestured first to her scrubs and then to James' mission gear. Wanda's eyes brightened with interest.

Steve was grinning brilliantly, not even swaying, as Dugan pounded his back, all of them talking loudly at once, the tension that had been there since the Commandos appeared finally gone.


	14. DAY FOURTEEN

DAY FOURTEEN

No one should be cheerful before ten in the morning. James firmly believed this and it applied even to Steve. Particularly not at Christmas. That's why Steve had crawled back into bed in the dark, freshly showered, after his early morning run in the crisp December air. Hard to believe that it was Christmas Day already. It was good to be back home with James in time for the holidays.

Maybe he could claim an early Christmas present: some cuddle time and some awesome morning sex. Because despite not being a morning person, James was extra cuddly in the mornings – and extra adventurous as well, once he woke up enough. 

But …Later. For now, Steve just enjoyed being warm and comfortable and close to James. 

He'd just pushed closer to bury his hand in James' hair and relax to the familiar, soothing scent of James' skin, when Friday's amused voice declared, "Fire in the common room kitchen." 

Steve froze. "Emergency level?" he asked in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb James, even though he knew that James was as awake as he was as soon as Friday's voice had sounded. Old habits died hard. He knew James' body, knew the way his muscles tensed, ready to run, to fight.

"Low. The automatic fire extinguishers did not even activate." The AI sounded a little too cheerful for Steve's taste. God, he missed Jarvis. "Though there are two very irritated guests in the communal kitchen."

James relaxed and made an inarticulate noise of sleepy outrage.

"I'm going to check on them," Steve said with a sigh and began to roll out of bed.

"Ngh, don't," James groaned, his voice sleep-rough. He tried to hold on to Steve. "They'll be fine. They're big boys."

"They're not fully adapted to the 21st century." Steve tried his reasonable voice. That worked. In one out of ten times. "Remember the stories of how well-adjusted I was when I got here?"

James groaned again and pressed his forehead against Steve's arm. "They're deliberate shit-stirrers. Besides, morning. Cuddle time. Christmas." He'd snaked his hand around Steve's waist and begun stroking Steve's back. "I've missed you."

Oh, that was just low. Steve clenched his teeth, fought the temptation to just stay and ignore the world around them and got up fully. James had been shepherding the Commandos the entire time he was gone, after all. It was Steve's turn to play nanny. "I'll be back soon."

James gave a low sound that sounded like a whine of protest. "I hate your sense of responsibility sometimes."

Steve turned around and winked. "No, you love it."

"Put on some pants this time." James threw a pillow at him which Steve dodged. "Disgusting morning people." The pillow thumped against the door. "I'll be with you in a minute."

~*~

Pepper woke along with Tony. She probably woke faster and easier, since she went to bed at a sensible hour, despite being on vacation for the next week. SI was seventy-five percent shut down. Basically, it was being run by employees who were very good sports, non-Christian or non-observant, and they enjoyed an extra days off later or their choice of vacation schedules or a nice bonus in addition to the Christmas bonuses everyone got. Pepper was popular with SI's employees, because Tony was extravagant and generous, but she was thoughtful.

The alarm sounded again. Tony thrashed, mumbling, making the waterbed slosh. Pepper made it to the edge and off. Tony rolled onto his back and blinked at the ceiling. "What?" he mumbled. "Ugh." He rubbed at the corners of his eyes.

Pepper put on the pretty robe Tony had given her. It was ankle length even on her and hid the washed soft t-shirt and panties she went to sleep in. Her hair was a rat's nest though.

"Emergency level?" Pepper asked Friday.

"Low," Friday replied. "A fire in the common room kitchen."

Pepper glanced at the clock and wanted to groan. Why were the Commandos up at five in the morning? Why couldn't they stay away from the microwave? Maybe it was time to put her foot down.

It couldn't be anyone else responsible. If Russian mobsters in tracksuits showed up calling everyone 'bro', Clint was to blame. If assassins showed up looking like supermodels, it was the Red Room and Natasha would handle it. If they woke up with snakes all over the floor, it was Loki and Thor and Valkyrie would punch him until he got rid of them. Unless the snakes were on Secretary of State Ross's bedroom floor. Pepper sent some really excellent chocolate and an emerald-encrusted stiletto to Loki that time.

If the microwave blew up and started a kitchen fire, it was the Howling Commandos.

"Come on, Tony," she said.

"Why? It'll be okay." Tony starfished over the waterbed. The movement made it ripple. Pepper closed her eyes. It made her a little nauseous. "Steve can take care of it."

"Because I've had enough."

"Are you going to lower the boom?"

Pepper pulled her robe tie tighter. "I'm going to talk to them."

Tony scrambled off the bed. A wide grin lit his unshaven face. "Oh, this is going to be good!"

"Also, that waterbed goes. I am not sleeping on it again. You can sleep with me or you can sleep on it, but not together."

"Thank God, it was starting to make me sea sick. Friday, have the waterbed gone and the best bedroom and mattress set available delivered immediately," Tony said.

"Of course, Boss."

Pepper found her hair brush and straightened the tangles from her hair. She knew women who slept in curlers or braided their hair at night, but she didn't understand how they could stand it. She needed her hair loose to sleep. 

It gave Tony, in his Megadeth T-shirt and boxers, time to pull on some sweat pants, which motivated her to don yoga pants that could pass for pyjama bottoms.

Now they were ready to face and face down whatever tomfoolery the Commandos were up to.

~*~

Steve skidded around the corner – wisely in pants and a sweater this time – and stopped in his tracks, which caused James, who'd got up just shortly after him, to stop too. He snaked an arm around Steve's waist and huffed out an approving breath.

"Steve? What –" Pepper and Tony arrived in pajamas and sweat pants respectively, and Pepper, too, trailed off when she saw the common room. "Oh," she whispered and reached for Steve's hand with the one not laced with Tony's.

"Not Steve," James said quietly. He wrapped his and Steve's hands around Pepper's slim fingers.

"Thanks, Friday," Steve heard Jim say from the other side of the common room. "That worked like a charm. Now just make sure that Miss Lewis gets here as well."

"I am here, you utter moron," Darcy's sleep-rough voice came from the half-lit corridor, accompanied by what sounded like someone trying not to trip over their too-long pants legs. He felt more than heard James chuckle.

"Good morning, Miss Lewis!" Dum-Dum called.

"Shut up," Darcy growled. Her hair was a spectacular bird's nest and a neon blue velvet eye mask hung around her neck. Worse than that, though, were the bright pink, oversized Hello Kitty pajamas she wore. Steve felt James wince and threw him a questioning glance. 

"Those are the bad mood PJs," James explained. "The ones I got her in retaliation for the Hello Kitty mug. They're really soft, but the colour can blind a man." Before Steve could ask what James was talking about, Darcy reached the doorway to the common room and stopped with her arms crossed. "Okay, that?" she said. "That's almost worth it."

A giant Christmas tree had been set up in the common room, a real tree, its scent resinous and calming. There barely was any decoration on it, but it was covered in real candles on every branch, giving the semi-darkness of the early morning a gentle golden glow that warmed Steve the way all of Tony's brilliant LEDs never could.

"Fire hazard," Bruce's voice chimed in from behind Tony. His hair looked a lot like Darcy's, only shorter and salted with gray.

Tony reeled him in in a half-hug. "You may be green sometimes, but don't be a Grinch."

"Everyone there?" Dum-Dum asked.

"Nat and Clint are with Laura and the kids," Pepper said. "They took Wanda and Vision with them."

Steve still cringed when he thought of Laura Barton. When Clint took them all off the grid to the farm, he'd assumed Laura was Clint's wife – and been angry that Clint had hidden his family. Clint and Natasha had run with the misapprehension despite the dire circumstances and let everyone think Steve was right, with Laura playing along with the epic prank. They'd only revealed Laura was married to Clint's brother Barney when Steve started pushing him to retire to be with his family. He really liked Laura and the kids, though. And he did like Clint and Natasha having a place they felt at home. Taking Wanda was one of Natasha's unexpected kindnesses. Vision had trailed after them so pathetically that Clint had extended the invitation to him.

"Well, then," Dum-Dum said, while Steve still wondered where Sam was. "Gabriel? Your stage."

Gabe stood up and began to sing _Veni, veni Emanuel_ in his warm baritone, a world away from the carols he'd been mangling for days. It had goosebumps appearing on Steve's arms and his eyes prickling. This was just like … no, it was better. He leaned into James who returned the embrace. Gabe sounded different – he didn't sing to annoy, but from the heart. It was beautiful. Touching. And if he went on much longer, Steve would have to reach for a tissue and he'd never, ever hear the end of it. He felt James chuckle a little but tighten the arm around his waist.

Pepper stroked her thumb over the back of Steve's hand and hummed along. Something in Steve's chest settled into place, a peaceful, perfect sense of _home_.

"I made tea," Monty said from the kitchen when Gabe had ended. He was smiling. "And coffee. And cocoa."

"And we prepared breakfast," Jim and Frenchie said.

"Don't forget the presents!" Dum-Dum called from the other side of the massive tree.

"What is this, _Mirror, Mirror_ , the Howling Commandos edition?" Tony leaned forward and looked at James, who just shrugged. "God, don't tell me I need to talk to Strange _again_?"

Monty cleared his throat. "I think it is time for an apology." He straightened and smiled. "We're still the same people we were yesterday. We've just … concluded Operation Arsehole yesterday."

"Somebody put their hands over Steve's ears."

"Oh, come on, Tony," Steve began, his scalp prickling with annoyance. He was never going to live down that unthinking 'Language,' he'd blurted at them. Especially if the Howlies started telling any stories about the language they'd all used in the field. James would probably piss himself laughing once that came out.

"No bickering on Christmas," Pepper cut both men off. "Go on, Major Falsworth."

"Yeah," Darcy agreed. "I want to hear this."

So, Monty told them all about their original conversations after they showed up, about their concerns and how they came up with Operation Arsehole. The more he talked, the more James tensed next to him, prompting Steve to stroke his hand along James' side to soothe.

"So that was all just an act to test our patience?" James asked when Monty had ended.

"Pretty much," Jim said with a small grin.

Darcy started an impromptu dance, which nearly made her fall into Frenchie's arms since she tripped over the pajama legs. "Pay up, Jimmy boy," she crowed. "Pay up, pay up."

"Steve, can I borrow your credit card?"

Steve stared at James. "What?" James had his own credit cards and accounts. Dear God, the Howlies hadn't wiped out James' funds, had they?

"They're your friends and I had to suffer their shenanigans and I lost a bet. Seems fair that you're the one to pay."

"He's got a point there," Bruce said.

Steve sighed. "Fine. How much, Darcy?"

She waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, nothing, if you finally let me watch …"

"Lalalalalala, not listening," Tony sang. "We were talking about apologies. I like apologies. Don't you, Pepper?"

"I actually like it better when they're not necessary, dear," Pepper said and brushed a kiss over Tony's cheek. The rest was quiet enough likely only he and James heard it, "That was a not so subtle hint toward a new bed."

"Already done, remember," Tony whispered back to her. 

"As we were saying earlier," Monty said, "we prepared breakfast – as a means of apologising and saying thank you for all your patience and your kindness."

"They did have a little help," came another voice from the kitchen.

"Alisha!" James and Steve chorused.

Sam, who stood next to his mother, shook his head, looking bleary but amused. "Will you two get married already?"

Steve tried to fight the blush climbing up his cheeks, but James just squeezed his hand a little, shrugged and grinned. Together, they walked over to greet Alisha Wilson: a hug from Steve, a smile from James. He loved her cooking, but he'd never quite got over how she'd frozen out Natasha the first time they met.

Maybe it was a good thing Nat wasn't here. She and Alisha still got on like chlorine and ammonia.

"What brings you here?" Steve asked.

"You mean besides wanting to spend Christmas with my son?" Sam placed a kiss on the crown of his mother's head and slung his arm around her. Alisha smiled at them, then winked at Jim and Frenchie. "I had a call from two very nice gentlemen who had plans for a special Christmas present." Frenchie came over to them and kissed Alisha's hand. "How can you say no to such manners?"

James coughed. "Manners," he muttered in an undertone meant only for Steve. Steve elbowed him in the ribs discreetly. James rolled his eyes but said nothing more.

"How did any of you even know to call Alisha?" Tony asked.

"Friday was kind enough to tell us who cooked your favorite foods," Jim explained. "We'd meant to either cook them ourselves or order in, but then Friday explained the whole organic and heirloom foods issue and how Mrs. Wilson solved the issue. When we called to consult her, she insisted on coming to our rescue."

"Took over like Agent Carter," Dum-Dum whispered loudly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Alisha said.

"As you should," Steve assured her.

Pepper hugged Alisha and Tony kissed her cheek. "Does this mean we're going to have the most delicious breakfast feast ever?" he asked.

"It does," Alisha said.

Tony took in the still sheepish looking Commandos. "All is forgiven. Though you can grovel a bit longer about the lab."

"Merry Christmas, everyone," Dum-Dum said. "Thanks for taking us in."

"Taking you – " James began, tensing.

"Relax," Jim said. "Darcy helped us find places to stay. Away from the Tower."

"We might show up every now and then," Monty said. "Once we've settled in."

"Avenger auxiliaries," Jim added, "Like you." He smiled, tight-lipped, eyes crinkled, warm and amused. James hummed, his body relaxing against Steve's. Steve knew that those words had validated James' choices better than all his assurances ever could. Jim had always been the most perceptive of them.

Gabe cleared his throat. "In order to celebrate properly, I have brought --" A dramatic pause, a drumroll on the table from Dum-Dum, a sweeping gesture to remove a heavy cloth from a box, "a karaoke machine with all the Christmas songs I could find!"

A grave silence fell over the room, only pierced by Steve's "Ow!" James had nearly broken his rib when he'd tightened his hand.

"I thought Operation Arsehole was over."

Gabe winked. "Just kidding. Good to know I can still get you, though."

"Everyone, sit down," Alisha said. "Have a few cookies and some hot chocolate and then we'll eat."

"Tea?" Bruce piped up.

"Coffee?" Tony asked, sounding hopeful.

"Everything."

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the ever-lovely murron for her beta-read!


End file.
